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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625602">Emotional Support</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon'>Aaron_The_8th_Demon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Escapism With Black Coffee [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twin Peaks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A complete lack of a unifying plot, Angst, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Ignores Season 3, Lodge dodge, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dale reaches across the desk and replaces the phone receiver before taking both of Harry’s hands in his. “Harry, are you going to be alright?”</p>
<p>It takes a moment for him to respond to Dale’s question. First is a slow headshake, aversion to eye contact in favor of watching some point on the wall. Then, very quietly: “…no.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dale Cooper/Harry Truman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Escapism With Black Coffee [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Both Of Theirs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm just going to say this upfront: THERE IS A REASON THIS FIC IS PART OF A SERIES. YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT 40% OF THIS FIC UNLESS YOU'VE READ THE ONE THAT CAME BEFORE IT. You don't necessarily have to have read the first fic in the series to get this one but you definitely need to read the second one to get a lot of what's going on here. This fic does not stand by itself. The first one stands by itself. The second one also more or less stands by itself. This one does not. It is heavily dependent on the second one.</p>
<p>That aside, as noted in the tags there really isn't an overarching plot to this fic. It's more just a small look at where Harry and Cooper's lives have ended up. There's still significant angst, but also some fluffy moments.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain drizzles lightly on the windshield as Harry drives, enough to have the wipers constantly on but not quite so bad that they’re whipping across the glass at top speed. There’s no streetlights here because they technically live just outside of town - between the initial hate crimes (which thankfully stopped after about a year, largely because they caught the idiots doing it) and needing two more rooms, they ended up moving six and a half years ago. Despite part of the circumstances behind it, Harry has good memories of that move. Dale had meticulously selected all the colors for the walls (Harry would’ve just painted everything white) and it had been something they did together. It wasn’t Harry’s house that Dale had moved into. It was both of theirs.</p>
<p>Speaking of. Harry’s truck rumbles into the driveway and he dashes in through the front door, trying to avoid as much of the wet as possible. Dropping his hat and jacket in one of the kitchen chairs and kicking off his boots, he comes into the living room and is completely unsurprised by what greets him there: Dale asleep on the couch with the tv still on, and all three of their kids also passed out - Emily and Stephanie on Dale’s chest, Jacob on the floor with his thumb in his mouth. It’s nine at night. They should’ve been in bed ninety minutes ago, but Dale for some damn reason let them stay up with him because of course he did, he always does.</p>
<p>Harry sighs and starts with Jake, who’s the heaviest sleeper and therefore easiest to move. He tucks the four-year-old under a balloon-printed comforter and turns on the night-light, then goes back to the living room and thinks for a second. The problem here is that, while all three are both of theirs emotionally, biologically Jake is his but Emmie and Stephie are Dale’s. Which means waking up Emmie also wakes up Stephie and neither of them sleep that heavily, and sometimes waking them up also wakes up Dale. Twin six-year-olds with mental powers are still something Harry has trouble working around.</p>
<p>“Dale.” Harry lightly pushes his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Hm?” Dale grunts, not moving or opening his eyes.</p>
<p>“You gotta put them to bed.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Dale shuffles a little and still doesn’t look at Harry. “Time is it?”</p>
<p>“Ten after nine, I just got back.”</p>
<p>Dale, because he’s Dale, manages to stretch, sit up, stand from the couch holding one of them in each arm, carry them into their room, and deposit them both into their beds without rousing them. Their brains talk to Dale’s brain, so he can just make them stay asleep most of the time, something Harry is really jealous of.</p>
<p>“There was a film on television they wanted to watch with me,” Dale explains as they turn off everything and retreat to their own bedroom.</p>
<p>“It’s the middle of the week and they have school!”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Harry, they’ve been sleeping for over an hour.” Dale yawns silently and starts putting on his pajamas. “They’ll be perfectly refreshed in the morning.”</p>
<p>Harry decides not to argue about it, because he’s old and tired and can’t even be bothered with pajamas himself. Instead he just strips to his undershirt and boxers and lies down without even brushing his teeth first. Occasionally his constant exhaustion worries him into thinking his leukemia’s coming back, but he gets bloodwork done every couple months so logically he knows it’s because he’s fifty two years old, which is really not the age that he should be chasing around small children all over the house in addition to policing an entire town.</p>
<p>It’s one of those things - one of those many, <em> many </em> things - that looks better on Dale than it does on Harry. Because Dale’s face is still a decade younger than his actual age, and Dale is the fun one with their kids, and it happens a lot that the citizens of Twin Peaks calling the station with their problems want Dale to be the one who comes and deals with it despite the fact that he can’t drive, and Dale is the one that goes to all the school things for Emmie and Stephie. Meanwhile Harry has anxiety problems leftover from the time however many years ago when he thought Dale froze to death out in the woods.</p>
<p>“What’s on your mind, Harry?” Dale asks, even though he probably already knows the answer.</p>
<p>“How did I get so god damn old?” Harry groans, stretching his back against the mattress and covering his eyes with his palms.</p>
<p>“It seems likely the passage of time played a role in it,” Dale offers.</p>
<p>Harry snorts. “Smartass.”</p>
<p>The weight of the bed shifts and Dale wraps around his side, cuddling him. “Harry, I promise none of the four of us are interested in how old you are.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“It’s not particularly necessary for you to worry about it,” Dale continues before planting a brief kiss on his right cheek bone.</p>
<p>They both take off their watches and set them on the side tables - instead of rings they got matching wristwatches when they got “married” because that was a lot less obvious and invited less hostility from outside parties. Dale gets back up again to turn off the light, and almost immediately Harry notices his alarm clock going off. He silences it and rolls out of bed, then goes straight for the bathroom so he can dig up his bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet because his back hurts again. It’s only October and he already hates the cold, which will inevitably get a lot worse before it gets better again.</p>
<p>After that - coffee. There’s no functioning without coffee, for him or for Dale, so he scoops the grounds into the filter and stumbles halfassedly around the kitchen trying to get breakfast ready while he listens to it working and eventually start dripping into the pot. Cereal for the kids. Orange juice. Milk. Wait. No. Harry throws out all three bowls after accidentally pouring orange juice into their food and putting the milk in the glasses, because apparently it’s just going to be one of those kinds of mornings. He groans as he fixes it, but doesn’t say anything. Only Dale can hear him thinking, not the girls, so he can think swears as loudly as he wants in the dubious privacy of his own skull.</p>
<p>Harry knows what part of his problem is. He quit drinking, for real and for good, when Emmie and Stephie were born. More than six years later and it’s still something that won’t let go of his thoughts, the urge to knock back some Jack Daniels at any small hardship or inconvenience because his coping skills are absolute shit. He can’t have it near him, it can’t be in the house, he can’t watch others drinking and be okay. Whenever there’s a brawl at the Roadhouse he always has to send someone else, <em> anyone </em> else, to deal with it because just the proximity of liquor is painful for him. It’s been six and a half years. He shouldn’t still be so affected, but he is. It randomly causes problems for him even now, like making him ruin breakfast for his kids.</p>
<p>“Morning, Dad,” Emmie and Stephie say in unison as they come into the kitchen and sit at the table. They’re already dressed for school.</p>
<p>“Morning, girls.” Harry kisses the backs of their heads as he sets their bowls of Lucky Charms in front of them. “Did you pack your lunches last night?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Stephie nods.</p>
<p>“Daddy got us chocolate puddings for dessert,” Emmie adds in.</p>
<p>“Oh, fun.” Harry is drawn back to the coffee machine as he says it because the pot’s almost full. “Tonight if I have to drop Daddy off at home and then go back to work again, I want you both to actually go to bed when you’re supposed to, though.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Harry pours two mugs of coffee and sets one on the counter for Dale, drinking out of the second one and burning his mouth as he does. Dale appears in the kitchen like he’s been summoned by the dark caffeinated beverage, already shaved but not yet dressed for work. Jake trails along after, rubbing his eyes sleepily and still in pajamas as well. Jake is pretty low-maintenance, though - he’s basically a tiny copy of Harry, which means his hair never has to get combed and he’ll mostly sit quietly unless someone wants his attention. Dale sometimes calls them both introverts, whatever the hell that means.</p>
<p>After finishing his coffee, Harry rummages the fridge and packs Jake’s lunch to bring to day-care. He also checks the girls’ lunches, just in case they forgot something, because he doesn’t want them to go hungry by accident.</p>
<p>“Harry.” Dale’s voice quietly sounds beside his ear after he’s looked in the pink and purple lunchboxes for the third time just to be sure. “Their lunches are fine.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Harry nods, finally abandoning the fridge and pouring himself some more coffee.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As noted at the beginning of the fic, you won't probably get a lot of what's going on here unless you've read *The Owls Are Not What They Seem*. Because it's kinda long and a lot of stuff happens in it, mostly things that Harry really just would never be completely okay again after experiencing them. It comes up a lot in this fic that he's got these emotional problems, he's had them for more than eight years now and they're not going away.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Affecting Problems That Can't Be Solved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> No, </em> Dale thinks as firmly as he can, trying to focus on his paperwork for the drunk and disorderly at the same time but failing abysmally.</p><p><em> But Daddy, it’s really hard! </em> comes Stephie’s voice from somewhere around his ears despite the fact that she’s currently in her classroom at Twin Peaks Elementary.</p><p>
  <em> No, Stephie. I’m at work right now. I lock people up and take care of problems because it’s my job. You have a job, too, which at the moment is to behave at school and learn. I’m not going to do your subtraction for you, and if you ask again you’re going to get a punishment when you come home from school. </em>
</p><p>He receives a disgruntled noise in response, likely identical to one she’s undoubtedly making in her throat at the exact same time, and her thoughts stop touching his. Dale sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. He understands, at this moment, why Harry always complains about being too old to have fathered such young children. At fifty two and thirty nine, they’re both too old for this, and Dale is plagued by that idea now. He supposes there are, in fact, older men than him whose children are in first grade or preschool, but it seems extremely likely that those men have those children as a result of extramarital affairs with their nineteen-year-old secretaries. Dale wishes, for the four dozenth time, that his circumstances had allowed him to meet Harry sooner.</p><p>At least this afternoon his headache is an ordinary one, easily curable with appropriate quantities of Tylenol instead of the monstrous piercing migraines that are far and away the most unpleasant symptom of his head trauma. Over the years those have become gradually less frequent, but they’re still completely incapacitating. Dale had always feared dropping his children when they were infants because a migraine or a seizure might suddenly overtake him and render him incapable.</p><p>Lucy appears in the doorway, distracting him from his already-distracting train of thought. “Agent Cooper?” Almost nine years and she still calls him that. “I think you should probably go check on Sheriff Truman, he just had a phone call from his brother Frank and usually that upsets him so he might need emotional support for a few minutes if you have the time.”</p><p>Dale nods and stands up. “Alright, thanks Lucy.”</p><p>Harry, predictably, is sitting behind his desk. The phone receiver is still in his hand even though Frank has probably already hung up on the other end. Distress flows off him in waves; his face is blank and his eyes are shocked.</p><p>“Harry?” Dale asks quietly.</p><p>Harry motions for him to close the door and sit, so Dale obliges. He watches his husband take a deep breath, punctuating it with a throat clearing noise.</p><p>“My nephew just died.”</p><p>Frank’s son is dead…? Dale’s mind, briefly, refuses to accept this information. Joey is much too young for his life to have ended.</p><p>“Did he inform you of the cause?”</p><p>“Joey shot himself.” Harry’s voice cracks slightly on the last syllable. “I guess something was wrong with him that nobody knew about. He didn’t say anything to anyone… Frank said Doris turned the house inside out looking for a suicide note, but… nothing.”</p><p>Dale reaches across the desk and replaces the phone receiver before taking both of Harry’s hands in his. “Harry, are you going to be alright?”</p><p>It takes a moment for him to respond to Dale’s question. First is a slow headshake, aversion to eye contact in favor of watching some point on the wall. Then, very quietly: “…no.”</p><p>Dale lets go, stands, moves around to the other side of the desk. He pulls Harry from the chair and into his arms. It’s rare for him, but at this particular moment he doesn’t have a single idea of what to do. There is no correct action to be taken in this situation, no method of repair. The problem is twofold - Harry is naturally a very emotional creature but was forced into a state of hiding those emotions whenever possible by his family at a young age, and more obviously this is a monumental loss. Dale wishes Harry could only allow himself to cry like most people, but he’s much too proud and damaged to afford himself that relief.</p><p>“You should drive down and visit them,” Dale decides. “I’m assuming there’s going to be a funeral.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry mutters into his shoulder.</p><p>“I’ll stay here with the children.”</p><p>“No.” Harry shakes his head. “No, you should come. I’ll probably worry myself to death if I’m away from you and the kids too long.”</p><p>“Alright,” Dale cedes. It’s a reasonable assumption; Harry’s anxiety problem originally manifested shortly after Dale’s head injury, and over the years it’s been slowly gaining traction. If attending the funeral will alleviate some of that stress, Dale’s glad to do it, no matter how unwelcome he’ll be there. “I’ll call the girls out of school and they can come with us.”</p><p>“And Jake?”</p><p>Dale sighs. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to bring him… Emmie and Stephie will be difficult to control by themselves and it wouldn’t be helpful to have them chasing him around and picking fights with him during a funeral service. Given the circumstances I believe asking Lucy and Andy to look after him for us would be the most practical option.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.”</p><p>He gathers that Harry is overloaded at the moment and can’t think clearly or process any further information. They stand there for an indeterminate amount of time, almost perfectly still. Dale can’t say he’s enamored with the fact that the most he can possibly do in this situation is to stay in one place embracing Harry, who’s overwhelmed and unable to think, and be completely incapable of affecting a positive outcome. There simply is no positive outcome to be had, here, and he feels helpless. Dale has always been a problem solver, even as a child, and now is faced with a problem that can’t be solved.</p><p>Eventually Dale lets go. “I’ll speak to Lucy, you should get ready to pick up the girls from school and return home.”</p><p>Harry nods. “Okay.”</p><p>Dale approaches the window and lightly taps on the glass, prompting Lucy to open it.</p><p>“Do you need something, Agent Cooper?”</p><p>“Lucy, the phone conversation from Frank was to inform Harry that Frank’s son recently passed away. We’re leaving the station early in order to attend the funeral and we won’t be back for several days, and I also have a favor to ask… it would be highly impractical for us to bring Jacob, so would you mind having him over until we get back?”</p><p>Lucy manages to nod through her blatant shock. “Sure, Agent Cooper… um… Andy and Wally probably won’t mind. Does he have allergies?”</p><p>“Only to bees, but he knows to stay away from those. Thank you, Lucy, this will be extremely helpful and I greatly appreciate your assistance. Ordinarily we pick him up from day care at approximately quarter to five, I’ll call them ahead of time to let them know you’ll be arriving for him instead tomorrow night.”</p><p>Dale’s prepared to explain further details, but Harry emerges from his office, still looking utterly shell-shocked. Dale experiences a thick tide of resentment at this moment directed entirely at his head injury - were he still in his original, pre-epilepsy state from nearly a decade ago, he would be capable of driving them home and taking that strain off Harry. As it stands, Harry will still be required to perform this action despite being in no state to do so.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Reasonable Disruption</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry’s never seen Dale holler at anyone. He’s never seen Dale become angrily reactive, either, or really be anything other than patiently and quietly concerned during times of stress. The closest was after rescuing Audrey all those years ago, before they faced <em> Bob </em> and long before they were together, where Dale sat in Harry’s office verbally beating up on himself over coffee while Harry listened.</p><p>That changes now, and it’s not something Harry’s prepared for or ever thought he’d see. Because Emmie and Stephie are yelling and fighting in the back of the truck, somehow kicking each other even being on opposite sides and restrained in their booster seats. They’re bored, they’re exhausted from the stupidly long drive to get to the opposite corner of the state, and even though Harry’s usually the one who doles out punishments he really can’t blame them for acting this way because he’s god damn sick of being on the road himself.</p><p>But apparently Dale has had enough.</p><p>“Harry, would you mind pulling over for a brief moment?” Dale requests, perfectly reasonable like always.</p><p>Harry’s confused, but obliges, putting them on the side of the road in park and flicking on his hazard flashers. Dale immediately unbuckles and twists around in his seat to bellow “BOTH OF YOU KNOCK THAT OFF THIS SECOND!” at the top of his lungs.</p><p>Dale Cooper does not yell. It’s a fact Harry thought was as certain as death and taxes, so this is more than a little shocking for all three of them. Right now, though, it’s obvious that even Dale reaches the end of his rope sometimes. Or maybe something’s going on.</p><p>“Dale, are you gonna have a seizure? Do you feel okay?” Harry asks, worried.</p><p>“I’m alright,” Dale answers, resituating himself and looking like he’s completely back to normal as he clicks the seatbelt shut.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yes, Harry, I’m sure. You may resume driving, now.”</p><p>The girls are thrown for a loop as much as Harry is, apparently, because they’re completely silent as Harry pulls back into the driving lane on the highway. They’re right now on seven hours and forty nine minutes of their nine hour trip, not counting when they stopped for food and bathroom breaks, and Harry’s wanted this to be done with already from the very first second. Apparently Dale feels the same way. Speaking of which… Harry glances at his wrist real quick on a straight stretch of the road and realizes they’re going to have to stop <em> again </em> to eat dinner soon. No wonder the kids are so cranky. It also means they probably won’t get to Frank’s until almost seven at night. That makes him start to feel cranky, too, even more than he already was. Funerals are so miserable and driving out to go to them just makes things worse.</p><p>But driving also gives Harry way too much time to think, because Dale for once isn’t being all that talkative. He’s really nervous about how this might go, he knows his dad is going to be there and some extended family members Harry hasn't seen in probably more than fifteen years, maybe closer to twenty by now. Frederick knows about Dale and isn’t okay with his presence in Harry’s life. Those other relatives, as far as Harry understands, aren’t even aware. Last night Dale even asked about that and seemed to feel pretty uncomfortable over it.</p><p>Which makes Harry feel bad about asking Dale to come at all. His poor husband, who has a bunch of health problems, is only doing this for him because he loses his mind over stupid things. He realizes, now that it’s way too late, how unfair it was for him to make Dale come with him and to torture their daughters by dragging them along too.</p><p>“Harry, it’s not that bad,” Dale promises, reading his mind like always.</p><p>“It is that bad,” Harry argues. “You gotta learn when to ignore me being selfish.”</p><p>“It’s not selfish. You’re in a difficult state emotionally at the moment, and even if you wanted me to abstain from helping I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”</p><p>That, at least, is true. Dale can be helpful to a fault at times.</p><p>Then Dale closes his eyes and sighs. “Yes, Stephie, it’s alright if you want to talk, I only wanted to make you stop fighting with each other a few minutes ago.”</p><p>“I’m hungry,” she announces.</p><p>“We’re gonna have dinner soon,” Harry promises over his shoulder.</p><p>After a few minutes Harry finds a diner to pull into, which has greasy menus and crumbs all over the floor. Aside from the food being all but inedible, it’s an uneventful meal and then they’re back on the road for the last hour or so of travel. It’s grinding. He’s exhausted. Harry wishes Dale could drive for awhile instead, because then he could sit in the passenger seat and worry about what he’s going to say to his father when they see each other tomorrow. As it stands he can really only focus on this problem on and off, because he has to pay attention to where he’s going.</p><p>And things only get worse from there. When Harry finally pulls them into Frank’s driveway, there’s Frank’s Dodge Ram and beside it is a battered Chevy from the mid-60’s with a bumper sticker from the Bush presidential campaign… his father is already here. Harry parks his truck and swallows.</p><p>“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… girls, when we go in, you can say hi to Uncle Frank and Aunt Doris and then you bring your stuff upstairs and start getting ready for bed, okay?” He’s so glad they can’t tell time yet and don’t know that it’s not actually their bedtime. Much more quietly, he adds “Dale, I need you to trust me and not say anything. Anything at all. Let me do all the talking. My dad’s not gonna be reasonable about this, you’re not gonna win him over, so just… let me handle it, okay?”</p><p>Dale frowns, but nods. “Alright, Harry. I can manage that.”</p><p>Harry’s all nerves as he gets out of his truck and starts walking to the door. He’s about to present himself for a thorough, homophobia-fueled grilling while Dale stands in the corner and watches… but if Dale tries to talk to Frederick, it’ll probably just be dumping water on a grease fire, so Harry has to do this by himself.</p><p>Coming into the house through the kitchen door, Harry ends up doing something he hasn’t done in forty six years - he hugs his brother. Frank is wearing that awful blank look and hard-eyed stare he had when their mother was dying and when Harry was having radiation treatments for his leukemia, but it’s not working. Harry can see, very easily, exactly how sad and disrupted he feels.</p><p>“Harry. Dale.” Frank nods at them. “Hi, girls.”</p><p>They both grab him for hugs, but it’s a lot less weird for them to do it. “Hi, Uncle Frank.”</p><p>Dale, because he’s Dale, also hugs Harry’s brother. “Frank, I’m so sorry. How’s Doris coping?”</p><p>“Badly,” Frank grunts. “I took her to the doctor and got her some valium, so she’s sleeping right now at least… I don’t think she’ll ever get over this.”</p><p>“It would be extremely surprising if she did,” Dale remarks quietly. “It’s completely justified for her to be in the state she’s in right now.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, it’s just a lot,” Frank admits. Then he sighs and looks from Dale to Harry and back again. “Careful of the living room.”</p><p>“Emmie, Stephie, go upstairs and get ready for bed,” Harry reminds them. He rubs his forehead and finally takes off his hat and jacket as they dart for the staircase. “Think he’ll just shoot me on sight?”</p><p>“Hope not. But it’s probably better to just get it over with now.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>The problem is that to go upstairs you have to walk through the living room first. Frederick doesn’t waste a single second. “Your kids are real cute, Harry. Who’d you steal them from?” And then he gets a look at Dale and sneers. “Are you even old enough to drink?”</p><p>Harry rubs his face with both palms. “Dale, don’t say anything. He’s thirty nine, Dad. Leave him alone, you’re mad at me, remember?”</p><p>“I ain’t <em> mad, </em> just real disappointed. You had me tricked into thinking I actually raised you into a man. I guess I’m just dumb like that.”</p><p>“Now here’s my question, wouldn’t you still be unhappy with me if I was married to a woman?” Harry snarks, tired and already too fed up with this to hold back his temper and attitude. It was something he got smacked for a couple times as a kid. “I always disappoint you anyway, no matter what I do.”</p><p>“Don’t change the subject.”</p><p>“Okay, what’s the subject, then?”</p><p>“My youngest son’s a faggot.”</p><p>“Yeah, I think that’s been pretty well established before now, Dad. It’s another thing in a big long series of things that I could’ve done better to avoid but didn’t, right?”</p><p>“Seems like it to me. Don’t you got a booze problem, too?”</p><p>“Do you even care?” Harry demands. “It seems like you’re a lot more interested in me being married to another man than you are in my drinking habits.”</p><p>“Okay, first of all, you and… whatever his name is over there, are <em> not </em> married. Second of all-”</p><p>Of all possible interruptions, Frank appears to stand in front of Harry. “Dad. Enough.”</p><p>He’s reminded of Frank stopping him from getting beat up any worse than he already was that time in school. As much as they squabble with each other, even now that they should’ve outgrown it, Harry’s always known that his brother’s not a bad man by any stretch of the word.</p><p>Frederick looks really surprised that Frank is sticking up for Harry, and it shuts him up right away. Harry figures he shouldn’t press his luck and heads for the stairs with Dale in tow before his father remembers how to talk.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Episodic Hostility</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dale stands up silently out of the guest bed and retrieves his various medications, then leaves the room in order to let Harry sleep in. He notes Emmie and Stephie also still slumbering in the other spare bedroom and goes downstairs by himself, understanding how drained the three of them became after such a gruelingly long drive. Dale isn’t in top shape himself this morning either, but he’s simply incapable of sleeping past quarter to seven, so he may as well start his routine instead of tossing around on the bed disturbing his husband’s rest.</p><p>It seems Dale is the only thing stirring in the house at the moment, which isn’t something he minds. Solitude can be calming at times, and he does his best to appreciate it as he starts a pot of coffee. The main issue is that Dale was never taught to cook, so he searches briefly and discovers a loaf of bread that can yield him toast for his breakfast. Not the most nutritious option, but he’ll survive.</p><p>Feet. Specifically, feet with no shoes, but wearing socks. The gait is completely unfamiliar to Dale, and he immediately ascertains the identity of the owner of those feet. He’s also absolutely not in the correct frame of mind for this confrontation before he’s had his coffee.</p><p>“I haven’t been ‘run out of town’ because the citizens of Twin Peaks appreciate my dedication to public service,” Dale announces, anticipating the sarcastic question, “and the majority of them are indifferent to my life choices that don’t pertain to my work.”</p><p>Frederick snorts from somewhere behind him. “Shouldn’t you live someplace that’s full’a other queers?”</p><p>“Mr. Truman, I took up residence in Twin Peaks because I enjoy its quirks and its climate, as well as the abundance and variety of fascinating wildlife. I had already planned to do so long before beginning a relationship with your son.”</p><p>“I’m kinda shocked they didn’t have you both lynched up there.”</p><p>“Yes, Harry and Frank have also mentioned that,” Dale answers dryly. “It seems my expectations of people in general are much higher than average. If you don’t mind, I’d like to postpone the continuation of this discussion until I’ve had my coffee.”</p><p>“Suit yourself, faggot. I ain’t going anywhere.”</p><p>Dale grinds his teeth - a bad habit he incorrectly assumed he’d left behind in his mid-twenties - and says nothing. He’s painfully aware of each instance where that term was thrown at him by hostile parties, and it’s at no point begun to feel any less painful or demeaning. Not to mention inaccurate. He’s equally capable of being attracted to women as he is to being attracted to men. At the moment, that explanation seems highly unlikely to make any difference, so he doesn’t offer it and focuses entirely on the steady dripping of coffee into the pot instead.</p><p>Dale retrieves his breakfast from the toaster and applies butter as the coffee machine concludes its cycle, then pours himself a mug and sits at the table. Frederick is also sitting there, eyeing him critically with an overtly hostile expression. Dale purposefully ignores this and does his damnedest to enjoy his meal, adding strawberry jam over top of the butter on the toast and savoring each sip of his coffee the way he always does. There are very few things that a cup of deep black coffee can’t improve.</p><p>Unfortunately for Dale, this turns out to be one of the rare examples that caffeinated bitterness is unable to fix.</p><p>“I bet your family doesn’t know what you are, do they?”</p><p>“My mother was perfectly aware of Harry’s place in my life and shortly before she passed away she informed me that she was glad she could die knowing I was so well cared for,” Dale informs him. “It’s a difficult concept for me to grasp that you’re unable to achieve a similar understanding with your own son. He’s reasonably happy with the state of his life despite the discomfort you continue to cause him. He looks after Twin Peaks and in general they have a great sense of respect for him. He’s very loving and thorough in regards to raising our children. I repeatedly fail to understand how you can hold so much disdain for such a fine man, when you should wish nothing but the best for him.”</p><p>While not intending at the start to phrase his thoughts so bluntly or viciously, Dale also doesn’t regret a single word of it, because he’s been thinking all those things quietly to himself for years now.</p><p>“Yeah, we’ll see how you feel if one’a your kids turns out to not be normal,” Frederick snaps.</p><p>Dale meets his eyes unflinchingly. “If Emily brings home a girl with her after school someday my first question for her will be to ask if they’d like me to buy them matching dresses for prom,” he says flatly. He folds his hands together on top of the table. “Mr. Truman, I’d also like to take this moment to remind you that all of us are here because your grandson is going to be buried tomorrow afternoon. It seems very distasteful to me that you’re behaving in such an uncivil way at this time.”</p><p>Frederick at least has a twinge of guilt in his expression when Dale points this out, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared and his face immediately hardens again. “Your lifestyle’s still disgusting and you shouldn’t be shoving it in people’s faces. Who the hell even gave you those kids?”</p><p>“We hired surrogates. My lifestyle choices include a career in law enforcement and convincing Harry that he needed to buy a new truck instead of getting the old one fixed again because it would be less expensive cumulatively.” Dale takes his medications while he drinks the remainder of his coffee and as he stands to serve himself more he feels Harry wake up and start to get out of bed, so he pours a second one as well and leaves it out on the counter before returning to his place at the table. “On the subject of my daughters, I’m going to politely suggest that you keep this unpleasantness to yourself around them. Consider yourself warned that if you don’t there will be further confrontation, and I won’t be as nice about it next time.”</p><p>Harry shuffles into the kitchen, briefly glares at Frederick, then walks directly to the cup of coffee Dale set out for him and drinks it in its entirety without pausing. “You eat yet?”</p><p>“I had toast.”</p><p>Harry rolls his eyes. “Dale, you can’t just eat nothing but bread.”</p><p>“I’m aware of that. However it doesn’t change the basic fact that I was never taught how to cook.”</p><p>Harry groans. “You’re eating something besides toast. You’re too skinny.”</p><p>“According to Doctor Hayward-”</p><p>“No. You’re too skinny. I’m making you eggs,” Harry insists.</p><p>Dale could point out that he’s been at the same weight since age twenty two, but he’s said that to Harry on multiple occasions and it makes no difference. Even with his husband stuffing food and donuts into him at every opportunity, he never gains any weight, and that seems unlikely to change any time soon. Additionally he understands that this is a manifestation of Harry’s anxiety - a compulsion to ensure that he’s adequately taken care of, even if it’s unnecessary. Dale puts up with it to help ease the strain Harry feels and he usually doesn’t mind anyway.</p><p>Very randomly, his arms and hands begin to itch, and Dale’s immediately annoyed and distressed in equal measure - any time he experiences unprovoked sensory issues it means he has between five seconds and twenty minutes to lie down in a safe place.</p><p>“Harry-” Dale tries to warn his husband, reaching out to hold onto something so that he can keep his balance and then opening his eyes on the floor with a throw pillow under his head. There’s a palm pressed into his, he’s drooling… and the next thing he immediately becomes aware of is Harry’s voice above him, bellowing at Frederick to shut the fuck up. Dale assumes that will make sense in context when he asks about it later. “I’m alright, Harry,” he mumbles, wiping the corner of his mouth on the back of his free hand but not yet ready to make an attempt at sitting upright. He needs to get his bearings back a little more for that.</p><p>Ultimately, Harry pulls him from the kitchen linoleum and sits him at the table. “I couldn’t catch you in time, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s alright. Was there any impact to my head?”</p><p>“I don’t think so, it looked like you landed on your shoulder first.”</p><p>Dale, at the current moment, regards himself as the pinnacle of dysfunction - until now, he hasn’t been shamed or viewed with disgust for his TBI and its varying horrific symptoms, but until now he’s <em> also </em> never had the misfortune of spending time in the company of Frederick Truman. Dale feels terrible… not for himself, but on Harry’s behalf, because he can see that this is further information to be used as ammunition at a later point. Frederick will demand to know (assuming he hasn’t already) why, if Harry couldn’t at least be “normal,” he had to “settle” for someone broken instead. This will send Harry flying into a rage, which he really shouldn’t be doing because his blood pressure isn’t the best after all those years of drinking, and life will become that much more unpleasant for all of them.</p><p>Dale immediately silences these thoughts when he detects his children finally getting up for the day; they’re essentially able to pry into his head whenever they please unless he has the energy and motivation to stop them (which he doesn’t right now). Instead he thinks breakfast-related thoughts in case they decide to do that, which is helped by Harry adamantly insisting that Dale eat a plate of scrambled eggs.</p><p>Emmie climbs into his lap and Dale steadies her on his left leg while Harry puts a smaller plate in front of her. “Daddy did you have a seizure?”</p><p>“I did, but I’m alright now.”</p><p>“I want ketchup.”</p><p>“What do you say?” Dale prompts.</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Harry, ketchup.”</p><p>“One second.”</p><p>Stephie mimics her sister by stuffing herself into the chair with Harry, and the four of them eat their eggs together without substantial conversation. Dale is acutely and painfully aware of Frederick studying them throughout this process, but he says nothing except to remind the girls to please chew with their mouths closed.</p><p>Emmie taps her fingers lightly on the back of Dale’s bad hand. “Daddy I think Jake is sad,” she whispers.</p><p>“Oh? Why do you say that?”</p><p>“I think he’s sad,” she says again, very quietly. “He misses us.” She traces his surgical scars with one fingertip.</p><p>The phone rings.</p><p>Harry sighs and gently moves Stephie so he can get up to answer it. “Truman residence. Yes, speaking…” A brief pause, during which Harry begins radiating distress. “Okay, can you let him talk to me?” The distress increases by a factor of ten over a period of approximately three seconds. “Hey, buddy… yeah, I know, it’s okay, we’re not gonna be gone very long.” Dale can tell by Harry’s tone of voice that their son is crying into the phone. “How about this, tonight I’ll call you on the phone and I’ll read to you before you go to sleep. I’ll do the same thing tomorrow, and then we’ll come home the next day and you won’t have to be sad anymore. I know you do, I’m sorry we can’t get back right now, we’ve got some stuff to do first. Hey, what are you doing at daycare this morning?”</p><p>Dale stops eating and rubs his face with his free hand - it’s hideously obvious that Harry will fall straight into a panic attack the second that phone is placed back in its receiver. Emmie twists around on his leg and hugs him as if he’s the one who will experience these issues firsthand. He pats her back.</p><p>“I want you two to get dressed and go play outside once you’re finished eating,” he says in a tone like he’s suggesting it even though he knows they know he really isn’t. They’re familiar with this routine anyway; Harry is on the verge of a breakdown, so they have to inhabit a separate space while Dale takes care of things.</p><p>It’s made much more complicated this time by the fact that they have essentially a hostile audience, which is an unusual rogue factor to consider. Dale wonders if there’s a room in Frank’s house where they can sit but still see into the backyard through a window so that he can keep an eye on the girls while going through the process of calming down his husband.</p><p>At least Emmie and Stephie cram the rest of their eggs into their mouths and promptly chase each other out of the kitchen, yelling about who gets the first turn on the tire swing. Dale gets up from the table as well, moving to stand behind Harry and resting both palms on his husband’s shoulders. Harry’s extremely tense, and interestingly he seems to be experiencing minute muscular tremors. Dale then feels mentally and is almost sent reeling as a result after a shock-load of anguish and rage shoots through him. Harry, in very short order, will stop being able to hold himself together.</p><p>Dale listens to Harry offer a final round of reassurances to their son, then all but drags him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their assigned guest bedroom the second the phone is replaced. Harry needs to be away from their children, away from Frank potentially seeing this as well, and especially away from Frederick. It’s a terrible combination of things to cause such a miserable start to the morning and the situation needs to be mitigated as much as possible. Had it only been Frederick in addition to the impending funeral, Harry may have been able to cope. On top of those, even though Dale having a seizure would’ve caused further strain (his seizures always wear on Harry’s mental state), it still wouldn’t have been unmanageable. But one of their children is in distress and Harry is unable to correct that. For Harry, at the moment, every conceivable thing is going wrong all at once.</p><p>“Harry, take deep breaths,” Dale says as he closes the door behind them. Harry tends to hyperventilate during these episodes.</p><p>“We should’a brought him with us,” Harry mutters, completely ignoring Dale as he drops down to sit on the end of the bed. “We should’a brought him… we’re not gonna be home for another two days, it’ll just get worse…”</p><p>“Harry, <em> breathe, </em>” Dale insists.</p><p>Dark, scared eyes land on him in response, and Dale watches Harry freeze. “This is your fault.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“This is your fault,” Harry repeats, louder and angrier this time. “You’re the one who said we should leave him at home.”</p><p>Dale doesn’t argue, because he recalls that yes, he did suggest it to Harry. “This is a terrible environment for him right now. With your father’s behavior… Harry… think critically for a moment, please. Emmie and Stephie would be antagonizing him the way they usually do, and the situation would quickly get out of our control. Frederick would only use this to criticize you - us - further by remarking on our supposed lack of proper parenting skills. I’m as unhappy as you are that Jacob is coping poorly, but from the most neutral standpoint I’m able to achieve I would still propose that this is the preferable choice between two terrible options. He’ll be alright again once we come home. I’d also like to remind you that you’re not upset with me. I had no hand in creating this situation or these unpleasant circumstances. Please, Harry, take several deep breaths. You’re having a panic attack.”</p><p>Reminding Harry that there’s a technical term for this state of mind is sometimes helpful. Dale slowly approaches and equally slowly sits beside Harry on the edge of the mattress.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Dale, I w…”</p><p>“What, Harry?”</p><p>“I wish we could’a just brought him…”</p><p>“I know, so do I. It would’ve been impractical and disruptive to do so.”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Harry is now to the point where he’s visibly shaking. Dale hasn’t seen this particularly often, but still understands precisely what’s approaching.</p><p>“Harry, it’s perfectly natural for you to be upset right now. No one can observe your current state besides me.”</p><p>“You don’t count,” Harry wavers. His fingers have balled up into fists, wrapped in the rumpled bedding at his sides.</p><p>“This isn’t entirely because of Jake. I think it would be much less damaging if you would admit to yourself how you feel right now.”</p><p>The entirety of the room seems to be rattling by now, even though Dale knows logically that this effect is entirely caused by him sitting in such close proximity on a spring mattress. Harry needs a long moment and several breaths to speak again, as well as a particularly difficult-looking swallow.</p><p>“I don’t know what I did,” he says finally, in a voice that has no obvious cause to be hoarse. “It’s not just… it’s not just this. It’s not just now or the last few years. It’s always been like this. But I don’t know. I don’t know what I did.” Harry swallows a second time. His eyes are glassy and rapidly turning red. “I want to. Dale. I want to be better than that for our kids. Because sometimes.” A brief choking noise. “Sometimes. There’s been things that I can’t forgive. Ah. Things I can’t forgive my dad for. And I… I don’t think…” Despite Harry’s best efforts, there are visible lines of tears finally escaping, and very predictably Dale can sense that it’s humiliating for him. A deep breath is taken. “I don’t think I can be okay if. Ah. If there ends up being things. Things they can’t forgive me for, either.”</p><p>Given the indescribable difficulty Harry usually experiences expressing himself on this type of issue, Dale understands why this hasn’t been discussed until now, but it also deeply hurts him that Harry lives in such fear of accidentally wronging their children. He immediately also experiences a nearly irresistible urge to cry as well, but manages not to, because if he does it makes this about him when it’s not. This is about Harry and Dale’s not nearly selfish enough to steal that when his husband is vulnerable and suffering.</p><p>“Harry…” He stops, considers his words. “I had a discussion with your father this morning, before you woke up. Having gained insight to his worldview and character through direct exposure, please believe me when I tell you that you have every right not to forgive him for the emotional wrongs he’s perpetrated against you… especially considering that he continues to do so, and without shame. But you were raised in a very different and much more rigid environment than the one we’ve established for our children. They’re going to grow up with as much love and support as we’re able to give them, and that can’t be entirely attributed to me. You’re greatly superior as a parent than your father ever was, and I find it very difficult to believe that any mistakes you make will be irredeemable to them.”</p><p>Dale pulls Harry sideways into a secure embrace and lets him cry in peace for a few minutes. He wishes, very strongly, that Harry was able to do this more often so that these difficult thoughts and emotions wouldn’t continually pile up until they’re simply unable to stay contained. Unfortunately, that’s not realistic.</p><p>Harry stops on his own, but Dale doesn’t let go immediately. “It may be a good idea for you to lie down for a moment, Harry. I’ll check on the girls while you recuperate.”</p><p>“Okay.” Harry seems to be agreeable about this because he’s in no state to do anything else. He shudders briefly again, an aftershock. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”</p><p>“No, it’s not your fault,” Dale insists, as gently as possible. He strokes his knuckles along the damp side of his husband’s face. “You have no reason to apologize to me, Harry. No reason at all.”</p><p>Dale kisses his temple before standing, then pulls the blankets onto him after he lies back. It seems possible that Harry will be able to relax slightly and maybe even achieve a post-breakfast nap in his current emotionally drained state if given the correct levels of love and care. Dale changes from his pajamas into pants and a flannel he commandeered from his husband several weeks ago, then brings Harry a glass of water before leaving to go check on their daughters.</p><p>Enter Frank, also dressed for the day. He doesn’t say good morning, and Dale supposes that for him there won’t be any good mornings for a very long time.</p><p>“I have a strong feeling that the start of the day is proving as difficult for you as it is for several of us,” Dale offers sympathetically.</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank grunts. Then he frowns. “Something wrong with Harry?”</p><p>Dale rolls his eyes, a rarity for him, and sighs heavily. “Frederick is what’s wrong with Harry.”</p><p>“That’s not news,” Frank snorts as the two of them make their way slowly to the staircase.</p><p>“It seems possible that you’re in a state of self-blame for Joey’s passing, Frank. But psychological health is a complicated process. I think it would be important for you to disregard your father’s casual emotional abuse towards your brother in the sense that there’s no comparison to how your relationship with your son existed. It’s not your fault.”</p><p>Frank nods slowly. Very quietly: “Thanks, Coop.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. Now, I have a small favor to ask.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your father is highly deserving of a thorough verbal thrashing that I simply don’t have the energy for. If you can manage it at some point in the near future, I’ll be very grateful.”</p><p>Frank nods. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”</p><p>With that resolved, Dale mentally drops the issue of Frederick for the time being and dons his shoes so that he can go outside and play with his children for a few minutes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Speaking as someone who's had plenty of panic attacks - they fuck you up. They really, REALLY fuck you up. No, Harry would not normally behave this way, but for however long your panic attack lasts (I've had them ranging from a few minutes to over two hours) the entire way that you think is disordered into a fiery train wreck.</p><p>On a related note Cooper is enabling Harry's behavior a little bit in some parts, mostly with the food thing. What he should do is say "Harry you're being anxious" or something to that effect but instead he lets Harry get away with it. Don't do that. It doesn't help. He probably doesn't realize that this is enabling, though.</p><p>Minor things: Cooper steals Harry's flannels because I steal clothes from my boyfriend, it's just kind of a thing you do in a same-sex relationship because you pretty much wear the same stuff as each other anyway so you might as well. Also "your dad's been being mean to my husband, can you kick his ass for me?" in Cooper-speak is my favorite thing in this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Solving Problems</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Harry, you’re giving me a headache,” Dale complains from the passenger seat.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Please think about something else. You’ve been continually reprocessing your decision for the previous eight and a half hours of driving, and it’s become extremely monotonous for me.”</p><p>Harry snorts despite himself. “I didn’t know thoughts can hurt you, Dale.”</p><p>“Ordinarily, and for ordinary people, they can’t. I’m a rare exception.”</p><p>“Right. That makes sense.”</p><p>“Wonderful. Now please think about anything else.”</p><p>“I think I was wrong, Dale.”</p><p>“You weren’t. You took steps to remove unnecessary difficulties from your personal life. Harry, <em> please, </em> think about anything else before I have a migraine.”</p><p>He tries, but it’s hard. It seemed like a good idea at the time to tell Frederick not to talk to him ever again, but maybe-</p><p>“Harry, you need to pull over so that I can retrieve the aspirin from my luggage,” Dale demands, clearly fed up with him and his perseverating.</p><p>“Sorry. I’ll stop,” Harry promises.</p><p>“But will you?” Dale questions. “Harry, I don’t mean to be abrasive, but I’ve known you to be obsessive at times, and while I realize that this may be considered as a case of the kettle having been called black by the pot I’m very quickly reaching the stage of being unable to tolerate any of your thoughts at all.” He rubs his temples as he says all that.</p><p>Harry pulls over and puts on his flashers. “I’ll grab you your aspirin.”</p><p>Dale’s so overstressed, but he won’t admit it and Harry feels bad about that because it’s almost entirely his fault. Most people, looking at the way they are as individuals and the fact that Harry’s considerably older, would assume that he’s the “leader” in their relationship, but he isn’t. Dale’s the one who can keep things manageable if not under control, Dale’s the smart one, Dale actually knows his ass from his elbow most of the time. He manages somehow to do those things with all his issues. Meanwhile Harry loses his mind over the smallest and stupidest things these days. It makes him even more grateful that he has Dale but he also feels so guilty that he adds to that emotional toll, both at once, and he still hasn’t figured out how to deal with the second one. It seems like it’s been slowly getting worse the last couple of years, too.</p><p>Coming back with the painkillers, he finds Dale having a migraine. This means a bulging fistful of Tylenol and aspirin, so much Dale can’t swallow all of it at once, and Harry sits still trying his hardest not to think about anything, anything at all, until it can kick in. It grinds on him, though, because this is almost twenty five minutes they’re sitting on the side of the road when he really wants to get back to Twin Peaks and pick up Jake.</p><p>“You could’ve started driving again,” Dale mumbles, still with his head pressed to the window and his arm across his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, we’re going.”</p><p>Dale nods but doesn’t move his arm. “We’re going to talk about this later.”</p><p>“We are?”</p><p>“Yes. There needs to be a calm and reasonable discussion.”</p><p>“Daddy why do you only do those talks when we have to go to bed?” Emmie demands from the seat behind Harry’s.</p><p>“Well, very often they’re quite boring, and this way you won’t have to listen to us being so dull,” Dale offers, finally uncovering his eyes and starting to rub his temples again. “I promise, we don’t say anything interesting to each other unless you’re there with us.”</p><p>“He’s lying,” Stephie announces to her sister.</p><p>“Yeah, I know!” she yells back. “I’m not dumb!”</p><p>“Girls, enough,” Harry shouts over his shoulder. “We’re gonna be home soon, then you’re gonna unpack your stuff and get ready for bed. That’s all you gotta worry about.”</p><p>“But Daaaaaaaaaad, we don’t even have school tomorrow!” Stephie whines.</p><p>“Yeah, we wanna stay up and watch tv!” Emmie adds.</p><p>“No,” Harry says, as forcefully as he can without hollering at them. “It’s been a long couple’a days and if you fall asleep on the couch I’ll just end up getting mad about it because my back hurts and I don’t wanna carry you into your room.”</p><p>“You could make Daddy do it instead,” Emmie points out.</p><p>“No. You’re unpacking your stuff and going to bed when we get home.”</p><p>“But Dad-”</p><p>“I said no and I mean it,” Harry snaps. “If you don’t drop it, you’re gonna get punished, and then you’ll have to spend the whole rest of the weekend stuck inside with no tv.”</p><p>That does the trick, just like he knew it would. They spend most of their time outside unless the rain is really coming down. The rest of the drive happens mostly in silence, which is probably a lot better for Dale’s headache. Once they get into Twin Peaks, Harry desperately resists the urge to let his boot fill with lead as he heads for Lucy and Andy’s place; the last eight minutes are unbearable. Finally he parks and bangs on the door.</p><p>It opens and there’s a blonde third grader looking up at him. “Hi, Sheriff.”</p><p>“Hey, Wally, where’s everyone else?”</p><p>“They’ll be right here. Are you gonna come in?”</p><p>“Nah, I can wait here. Thanks, Wally.”</p><p>“Yup.” Wally scampers off in the direction of the living room.</p><p>A much smaller pair of feet pound loudly along the floor for a few seconds and then Jake is flying into his arms. Harry scoops his son to his chest for a hug.</p><p>“We’re back, you can come home now.”</p><p>“Dad I missed you!” Jake whines in his ear.</p><p>Harry twists his face around far enough to kiss the side of Jake’s head. “Yeah, I missed you too, buddy. You wanna go get your stuff and get in the car?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Harry puts Jake back down on the floor right as Lucy comes over. “I hope this wasn’t too rough on you.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Sheriff. Most of the time he was really sad because he wanted to be where you and Agent Cooper are but he couldn’t be and so he was very sulky but Wally tried to cheer him up and sometimes that helped a little.”</p><p>“Okay… thanks for helping us out, Lucy, it would’a been… not a good idea to have him there.”</p><p>“That’s okay, Sheriff, you don’t have to explain yourself to me if you don’t want to. Of course if you <em> do </em> want to, I’ll be happy to listen, but probably at a more convenient time when you don’t look so tired and stressed out.”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary.”</p><p>Jake comes running back dragging his bag of stuff, which isn’t closed all the way and is leaving a trail behind it. Harry steps into the house just long enough to gather up the debris and put it back in the bag, making sure the zipper is pulled up all the way this time. He scoops the bag in one arm and Jake in the other, then carries all of his precious cargo out to the truck. The bag goes in the bed and Jake goes in Dale’s lap, where another hug is waiting for him. Jake nestles himself securely between Dale’s arms and chest, starting to suck his thumb the way he does when he sleeps even though he probably should’ve outgrown that by now.</p><p>Another ten minutes and they’re finally back home. They struggle Emmie and Stephie into bed, and Harry wants to just sit for awhile and hold Jake until he falls asleep, but Dale forces him not to because it would be “enabling separation anxiety” or some such nonsense. So Harry tucks in their son like normal, and the two of them are left to unpack their things and have whatever talk Dale’s been planning on.</p><p>“You’ve been wrestling internally with some troubling ideas,” Dale starts while in the midst of tossing his dirty clothes into the laundry basket by the door to their bathroom.</p><p>“News at five, Dale.”</p><p>“Yes. I would like to first affirm your decision to cut ties with Frederick. His behavior was very clearly not going to change and it’s been causing you a great deal of distress. Your brother learned to accept the facts of your existence as a human being. Your father repeatedly refused to do the same. Harry, I understand that in some manner this was a frightening choice for you to make, but in making it you’ve displayed a great deal of strength and courage. Many people in your situation would not be able to do the same.”</p><p>“Alright, if you say so. But I think I know you well enough by now to say that’s not the main thing you’re gonna hassle me for.”</p><p>“No, it isn’t. Harry, in general the main source of stress in my life is the fact that you find yourself so stressed. You, yourself, are not the problem. It troubles me to witness you under such strain regardless of it being due to external factors or internal disruptions. More to the point, Harry, I’ve never viewed you as a burden on my mind and I never will. If you were a problem, I would’ve solved you instead of marrying you.”</p><p>Harry can’t help chuckling a little at that, which he’s pretty sure was the point. “If anyone could solve me it’d be you, Dale.”</p><p>“You’re not something I want to solve, Harry. High blood pressure, back pain, and anxiety are problems. Those three things are undeniably segments of your existence, but they in no way define you as a man.” Dale pauses to put his prescriptions on top of the dresser where they usually live. “Harry, you’re an intelligent, kind, wonderful person. There are many qualities of your character that I’ve been enamored with since the beginning of the time that I’ve known you. None of those things are solvable. You’ve always put my best interests and more recently the best interests of our children before your own every time it was possible for you to do so. That’s not solvable. You regularly sacrifice your own wellbeing for that of others. This is also not solvable. And it shouldn’t be. Nothing I’ve just listed should be viewed in such a way as problems needing to be solved. I would never change any of those things about you, because you are not, never have been, and never will be, a problem. A small corner of your mind would like to convince you otherwise, but it’s blatantly lying to you any time it says you cause me difficulties.”</p><p>Harry nods. “Okay, Dale. You win.” Dale always wins. Harry’s okay with that.</p><p>His husband smiles. “What have I won from you, Harry?”</p><p>Harry goes over and kisses him. If he ever had to sit down and make a list, this would be reason number five thousand and twenty why he loves Dale.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On the topic of Cooper being the "leader" of their relationship - this isn't to say they're not equals. They both have a say in how things go in their family unit, Cooper is just more on the ball about pretty much everything so Harry's fine with sitting back and letting him do his thing. The reality is that most relationships (including most healthy ones) are like this, one person will just sort of naturally defer to the other one for certain things. Sometimes the people in the relationship will "take turns" being in charge (my mom and dad are like this), and I think Harry and Cooper are probably that way too even if Harry doesn't actually realize it. There are certain things that Harry's responsible for and there are certain things Cooper's responsible for, Cooper just happens to be responsible for slightly more things than Harry is. This is not a bad thing. What *is* bad is if one person forces the other one into submission, which would be abuse.</p><p>Also I think Harry is a much better dad than he gives himself credit for.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Arrest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dale pours himself a mug of coffee - his fourth today - and promptly vacates the kitchen in order to sit and continue chipping away at the paperwork in his husband’s office. Harry isn’t presently at the station, but he should be back from his doctor’s appointment very shortly and Dale wants to surprise him with a fully completed stack of red tape. He doesn’t detect significant amounts of distress, so the chances of any major problems having been revealed at this appointment are very low.</p><p>Dale is signing the last page when he hears the doors to the station open and Harry appears, seeming mildly irritated.</p><p>“Harry, any changes?”</p><p>“No leukemia,” Harry answers, sliding off his jacket and tossing his hat onto his desk. “But, I do have to start taking some meds because my blood pressure’s getting bad enough that Will got worried when he was looking at the cuff on my arm a few minutes ago.”</p><p>“Will this be horrifyingly inconvenient for you?”</p><p>“Probably not, but I might forget, I’m barely human in the morning.”</p><p>“I’ll remind you while I’m taking my prescriptions,” Dale suggests.</p><p>“Okiedoke, sounds good.” Harry sits and notices: “Did you finish this up for me?”</p><p>“Of course I did,” Dale smiles. “Anyone who can drive is out of the station.”</p><p>Harry chuckles. “You didn’t have to go through all this crap, you know. I appreciate it, but it wasn’t necessary.”</p><p>“Harry, necessity had absolutely nothing to do with my decision making process.”</p><p>“Sheriff?”</p><p>“Yeah, Lucy.”</p><p>“There’s been a dispute at the mill called in by a… shift supervisor, apparently two workers are having a fistfight over something but he’s not sure what.”</p><p>“Okay, we’re on it.” Harry puts his hat and jacket back on immediately. “Y’know, sometimes I wish the mill stayed burned down so we wouldn’t have to keep going up there, I bet it’s another damn drunk and disorderly…”</p><p>“Why do they drink during their shifts?” Dale wonders.</p><p>“Beats me.”</p><p>Dale drags on his own coat and follows Harry out to the truck. Very randomly, he thinks back briefly to the days of sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s truck and whittling. He hasn’t done that in many years because his left hand has tremors from the nerve damage, in addition to the fact that his ring and pinkie fingers have very little tactile sensitivity in them - he could lacerate them by accident and not notice right away, which did happen once while he was cutting up food for Harry to cook. Dale had been completely unaware for nearly ten minutes because he’d been engrossed in a conversation at the time, and only when Harry saw the blood all over the counter and panicked had the situation been fixed.</p><p>The drive out to the sawmill isn’t long enough to be conducive to whittling anyway, even if Dale was still able to do it. He misses the craftsmanship involved, and it occurs to him that if he hadn’t been injured he could probably carve out some toys for their children.</p><p>They get out of the truck and Dale’s distracted from his whittling thoughts by a distant sense of foreboding. He becomes concerned almost immediately, but elects not to inform Harry because they’re at work and this is hardly the right place to feed his husband’s anxiety. Dale’s not stupid or inexperienced enough to brush off the feeling as nothing, but until he can gather further information about what the cause may be there’s no point to getting others worked up over it.</p><p>“How much you wanna bet it’s the same two from last week?” Harry mutters from the corner of his mouth as they approach the sawmill.</p><p>“Highly doubtful, I’m fairly confident at least one of them was fired for his transgression.”</p><p>They find the fight in question near the beginning of the assembly line, still throwing punches while other loggers look on, occasionally taking bets or egging one of the brawlers on. Harry and Dale shoulder their way through and drag the two men apart.</p><p>“Alright, who wants to tell me what happened?” Harry demands, still pinning Charlie Simmons’ arms behind his back.</p><p>“He’s sleeping with my wife!” Arthur Doyle bellows, twisting in Dale’s grip.</p><p>“I’m not! I don’t know why he thinks that or why he started hitting me!” Charlie protests.</p><p>“Artie, please!” Dale struggles a little wrestling him back another foot. Arthur’s shorter than him, but much more muscular. “It should be possible to have a rational discussion about this, gentlemen. Artie, you first. What specifically was brought to your attention that makes you accuse both your wife and one of your colleagues of adultery?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” Arthur shouts.</p><p>“I believe it does, yes.”</p><p>Harry lets go of Charlie and walks over. “Maybe we should go talk about this somewhere else.”</p><p>They flank Arthur, leading him out of the mill and towards Harry’s truck.</p><p>“Artie, have you been experiencing marital problems prior to this?” Dale questions.</p><p>“The hell do you know about marital problems?” Arthur snaps.</p><p>Harry kicks his feet out from under him. “Woah there, Artie! You should watch your step around here!”</p><p>“That was on purpose!”</p><p>“Yeah, usually disrespecting law officers happens on purpose,” Harry nods, pulling Arthur back up by his shirt collar. “Let’s get one thing straight in a hurry, Artie. Just because you don’t call me a queer to my face anymore doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’re thinking it real loud. Being upset that your wife probably said something which for all we know isn’t even <em> true </em> doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me or on Deputy Cooper. That real clear for you?”</p><p>Arthur just growls at them, but allows himself to be led to Harry’s truck and subsequently driven to the station. Leaving the mill, Dale’s inkling of danger passes, leaving him curious and concerned as to its origins.</p><p>“What do you want for lunch?” Harry asks from the driver’s seat.</p><p>“Apparently Norma has a special today of locally sourced pan-fried steelhead trout.”</p><p>“So you’re going to eat a whole pie,” his husband teases.</p><p>“No, Harry, I’m going to have the special and only three pieces of pie. The dentists’ office has been hounding me to eat less pie and drink less coffee or risk damaging my teeth, and as I’m incapable of lowering my consumption of coffee then the pie will have to diminish in volume. Unfortunately.”</p><p>“Dale, three pieces is still almost half a pie!”</p><p>“Yes, but it’s not entirely half of a pie. And aside from that point, you’ve told me loudly and often that I’m too skinny.”</p><p>“But you shouldn’t eat so much of that kinda stuff, this is exactly the same as when you try to get away with a slice and a half of toast for your entire breakfast. You need protein and vegetables, not all that bread.”</p><p>They lovingly bicker over Dale’s eating habits throughout the short drive, nearly forgetting about Arthur until they’ve returned to the station and are herding him inside to determine whether they’ll be booking him or not. They take him to the interrogation room downstairs that has the table in it and both sit across from him.</p><p>“Let’s speak calmly about this please, Artie,” Dale says, leaning forward slightly. “It seems to me that you’ve been having domestic troubles, which led to you accusing your friend of something that he doesn’t seem to have done. Would you like to explain how you reached your current point?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I… Peggy said she’s leaving me for someone else, and Charlie’s always been over at the house the last few… years…”</p><p>“Yes, but my understanding is that Charles is your best friend,” Dale points out. “And that he’s also married. It seems very unlikely to me that he would betray your trust and your friendship unless there were many other warning signs before now. I’m led to believe that you made an irrational assumption because your emotions got the better of you. That’s not to say you don’t have a very good reason to be so upset.”</p><p>Arthur cracks. “But why’d it have to be me?” he moans. “Why my marriage? I didn’t do anything wrong.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and then scratches the spot above his ear. “Everyone else has it good. Even you two. She always yells at me for drinking too much coffee.”</p><p>“Artie, there’s no such thing as too much coffee,” Dale assures him. “As to whether you’ve done anything wrong to incite this, I can’t offer any opinions, because I’m not part of your relationship with Peggy.”</p><p>“You two locking me up for this?”</p><p>“Not this time,” Harry decides. “But if it happens again we might have to.” He sighs. “Artie, beating up on your friend isn’t gonna change anything. Now we can bring you back to work, but maybe you should just go home for the rest of the day and think about some things, try to straighten out your situation.”</p><p>Arthur shakes his head. “No, I’ll just go back to work, Sheriff.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>They drive him back, and Dale witnesses Harry’s disappointed-but-not-surprised speech that’s usually reserved for when their kids break something in the house by accident. “Alright, look. We’ve been here four times in three months. All’a you gotta stop pounding on each other, and while you’re at it quit drinking at work, it’s dangerous besides just the fighting. I don’t wanna have to come back here again, I have better things to do and so do you.”</p><p>Dale’s instincts, though sharp, are almost exactly two second late to prevent what happens. They’re turning to leave. Dale’s sixth sense is wailing to him that something is wrong, someone’s in danger. That someone turns out to be Harry. A piece of machinery that’s transferring a debarked log to some other part of the mill. There is a corroded connection on the cable, which snaps at precisely the moment necessary for the end of that log to swing around and catch Dale’s husband squarely in the sternum.</p><p>Harry’s knocked backwards several feet, landing on his back on the ground.</p><p>Dale doesn’t breathe, and Harry doesn’t get up.</p><p>In fact, Harry doesn’t move at all.</p><p>“Call an ambulance!” Dale yells at them, running over to Harry and dropping heavily to his knees.</p><p>He presses his fingertips to Harry’s neck and finds no pulse. Strong blows to the chest, aside from rib injuries, can potentially disrupt the rhythm of a person’s heartbeat and cause cardiac arrest. Dale has enough marginal first aid training to understand that he should begin chest compressions, which he does immediately. Harry’s absolutely still and silent. Distantly, Dale can hear one of the mill workers talking frantically into a phone. Chest compressions are exhausting for the aid-giver, and despite being in reasonably good shape Dale’s not sure how long he can do this for. His internal clock ceases to inform him of how long he’s been pressing down on Harry’s ribs, his abdominal muscles are becoming sore. Stubborn determination forces him to maintain the action - Dale wants, very desperately and more than he’s wanted anything in his life before, for Harry to live.</p><p>A noise touches his ears, but he’s unable to identify it as emergency sirens until a paramedic is shoving him out of the way.</p><p>Dale stays on his knees in the mud, watching them speak to each other for approximately six seconds before tearing open Harry’s overshirt and sending buttons flying across the ground. They cut down the middle of his undershirt, smear gel on the paddles of their defibrillator. Two successive shocks with no effect. One paramedic stabs a needle full of something into Harry’s chest. They shock him a third time, a fourth time. More needles of things. On the fifth try, one of them announces to the other: “I’ve got a rhythm.”</p><p>Dale can see Harry breathing again. He feels himself breathing as well, even though for a time he’s sure that he hasn’t been able to. His husband is shuffled onto a stretcher, still not moving but allegedly alive again and now with an oxygen mask over his face.</p><p>One of the paramedics looks at him: “You can ride up to the hospital with him if you want, sir.”</p><p>Dale nods mutely. His words, at the moment, have deserted him. He climbs into the ambulance after Harry’s been more or less settled and spends a very uncomfortable six minutes watching an IV get placed to be filled with several medications while feeling every single pothole and crack in the road under the tires. He notices that the muck soaked through the legs of his uniform pants. But Harry’s alive, which is the only thing that matters.</p><p>At the hospital, Doc Hayward isn’t available because he’s doing outpatient work instead for the day, which means someone else examining Harry and Dale not being allowed into intensive care until it’s been completed. He sits quietly in the waiting area, feeling mentally. There’s a terrible pain in Harry’s chest which radiates across the center-left region of Dale’s ribcage, indicating either cracking or breaking in at least three bones. Dale holds his chest and bends forward slightly, despite this incredible discomfort not belonging to him. He also notes, through the pain, that Harry’s situational awareness is gradually returning, which includes awareness of the injury. As Harry slowly wakes up Dale’s breaths hitch with each new flash of agony beside his sternum. It nearly reaches a point where Dale stops understanding exactly which one of them is hurt.</p><p>The doctor whose name he’s unaware of appears finally. “You can see him now, Mr. Cooper.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Dale gasps weakly. The only comparable experience he’s had was when Josie Packard shot him, and he waits for the doctor to disappear before struggling out of the chair and moving down the hall to Harry’s room. He repeatedly braces his bad hand on the wall for support for the short journey. “Harry.”</p><p>Harry only makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan in acknowledgement. A nurse is bandaging his upper torso and helps him lie down once she’s finished. Harry breathes in short, jagged gasps from the oxygen feed in the wall.</p><p>“Dale,” he wheezes, “can you call Hawk and have.” Harry’s respiration becomes particularly ragged for a brief moment. “Have him. Have him…”</p><p>“Harry, it doesn’t seem like you should be trying to talk right now,” Dale says, struggling to speak normally.</p><p>“My truck… still at the mill.”</p><p>“Yes, it is. Harry, please relax. You’re in terrible pain and talking to me isn’t helping you.”</p><p>“Dale-”</p><p>“Harry, please stop talking, it hurts,” he begs, dropping into the chair beside Harry’s bed and holding his own ribs.</p><p>Ordinarily Dale has a much higher pain tolerance, but his mind has no defenses against any damage inflicted on his husband. So he sits still for awhile, and Harry lies still for awhile as well, neither of them speaking. It occurs to Dale that he should call Lucy and inform her what happened, but he’s in far too much pain to stand up again at the moment. He eventually manages to shuffle the chair close enough to the bed that they can hold hands, but it’s the absolute height of his ability to move himself.</p><p>A nurse comes in and Dale forces himself to speak in a way that doesn’t indicate his current suffering. “Will he be staying overnight?”</p><p>“Dr. Holdren wants to keep him for observation since his heart stopped,” she nods.</p><p>“Why hasn’t he been given painkillers?”</p><p>“He refused them.”</p><p>Dale looks over. “Harry, why?”</p><p>“…make me sick.”</p><p>“Harry, please take the painkillers.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Dale shakes his head and looks at the nurse again. “Will it be possible to use one of the phones at some point? I need to inform the station of the sheriff’s whereabouts.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Stolen Years</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry swallows down his blood pressure meds - as well as the painkillers Dale wouldn’t shut up about two days ago in the hospital - with a huge gulp of coffee and watches Dale struggle to pull breakfast together for their kids.</p><p>“Harry, how can I be sure I’ve distributed enough milk proportionally to the amount of cereal in the bowls?” Dale asks, mild distress in his tone.</p><p>Harry snorts. “You just eyeball it until it looks right. There’s no wrong way to make cereal. Are you <em> absolutely sure </em> you don’t want me to do it?”</p><p>“Harry, what I want is for you to sit down and rest. You’re severely injured and should remain as still and calm as possible.”</p><p>“Dale, you broke a bunch of ribs and kept working.”</p><p>“Yes, Harry, but this bearing in mind that I was much younger then than either of us are right now, I only broke two ribs instead of five, I was not sent into cardiac and respiratory arrest, I was working to finish a difficult case, and I was being very stupid by not taking time to properly recover. My cartilage still aches on occasion after failing to heal correctly.”</p><p>Harry shakes his head. “Either way, there’s no wrong way to do cereal. I don’t think you can ever be trusted around pans, but cereal’s not that hard.”</p><p>Dale smiles briefly before looking concerned again as he finally pours the damn milk. Harry can’t help finding it cute how Dale’s perfectly confident at almost everything else, but making breakfast for their kids is beyond him somehow. Meanwhile Harry also has to force himself to sit back and drink his coffee without helping. It’s the middle of the week and he’s not going to work, he won’t be dropping off his daughters at school. Instead, Hawk’s going to be over to get Dale and the girls, and Jake’s going to stay home with Harry instead of going to daycare (which he’s thrilled about).</p><p>Stephie comes into the kitchen first, mostly dressed for school but not wearing her shoes or socks. “Dad, can you do my bow?”</p><p>“Sure, c’mere.” Harry fixes it to her head, but then realizes how unhappy she looks. “What’s wrong, honey?”</p><p>“Daddy’s chest hurts because your chest hurts, and now Emmie’s chest hurts too.”</p><p>Harry gets up immediately and leaves the kitchen, ignoring Dale loudly telling him to stay still. Emmie is curled into a ball, still in bed. It wasn’t this bad yesterday when he got home from the hospital - they knew he was in pain, they knew Dale was in pain, but it wasn’t really affecting them very much because they can usually turn off to whatever Dale’s thinking or feeling if they want to. Maybe it’s because they went to sleep and had to wake up taking the brunt of Dale’s mind. Maybe Stephie could turn it off again in time, but Emmie was too slow.</p><p>Harry sits on the side of her mattress and puts a hand on her back. “Do you wanna stay home from school today?”</p><p>She nods, just a little, with her forehead pressed against her knees. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay.” Harry wishes Dale could turn it off like they can, because then this wouldn’t be happening. Nobody would have to have broken ribs except for him.</p><p>Dale appears. “Harry, are you sure it’s a good idea for you to keep two children in the house with you while you’re recovering?”</p><p>“The damn painkillers are gonna kick in soon, and I’m going back to work next week. It’s not a recovery, Dale. I’m just taking a quick break and it’s mostly because you and Will are making me.”</p><p>“I still think it would be a much better idea for you to stay home next week, too,” Dale says for probably the tenth time.</p><p>“Dale-”</p><p>“Harry, I would like you to recall the initial period of time following my TBI and how stressful and frightening it was for you.”</p><p>“Oh.” Somehow Harry didn’t even think of that. “Dale, this is… nowhere near as bad as that. I’m gonna be fine in a few weeks and I’m going back to work Monday.”</p><p>“Incidentally, this is one of the reasons I was so adamant about the analgesics, I was worried it could affect the children.” Dale comes the rest of the way into the room and picks up Emmie out of her bed. “It won’t hurt as much in a few minutes, and once it stops I want you to eat your breakfast, alright?”</p><p>“Okay Daddy,” she whimpers, wrapping a fist in his shirt while he carries her into the living room.</p><p>Harry watches Dale deposit her on the couch and the two of them go back into the kitchen. Jake is sitting at the table in his pajamas, eating cereal like nothing’s wrong. It’s kind of ridiculous how backwards his family really is - his daughters are rambunctious hellions, and his son is usually quiet and well-behaved. It kind of worries Harry, actually, because he got picked on a lot in school for the same thing until his dad made him start playing football.</p><p>Harry watches Dale sit a little too heavily and more or less choke down his breakfast. Harry’s in too much pain to eat, and once the meds start to work he’ll be too sick to eat instead, so he sticks with his coffee and doesn’t take a single bite of the toast his husband put in front of him. It reminds him of being in the hospital in Seattle, and that puts a chill through him for a second. Harry takes several deep, stabbing breaths and reminds himself that he doesn’t still have leukemia. It’s just his ribs. They’ll be fine in a few weeks. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.</p><p>“I’ll call and check on you during my lunch hour,” Dale offers, stopping Harry’s incipient panic attack in its tracks. “At some point, you should at least have a snack before then.”</p><p>“I’ll try,” Harry says, not promising because he knows he probably won’t. This is why he really didn’t want those painkillers, they make him way too ill.</p><p>“Harry, I’m serious.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know you are. In fifteen minutes when you start throwing up, you’re gonna wish you didn’t eat either,” Harry points out, because it’s been proven time and time again that Dale isn’t immune to Harry getting nauseous.</p><p>Dale sighs. “Would you consider taking Dramamine until the analgesics are no longer necessary? It may cause you to become somewhat drowsy as a side effect.”</p><p>Harry thinks about that one for a second. “It could be worth a shot.”</p><p>“Alright.” Dale puts his dishes into the sink and does up his boots, then notices a small pair of bare feet. “Stephie, why aren’t you wearing shoes?”</p><p>“Emmie gets to stay home from school, so I should get to go without shoes! I don’t like my shoes and the carpet at school feels good on my toes!” she announces with a big grin.</p><p>“It doesn’t work that way. Go get your socks,” Harry orders, pointing in the direction of her room.</p><p>She sulks at him for a second, but thankfully does as she’s told instead of putting up a fight that Harry doesn’t have the energy for. Harry settles back further into his kitchen chair and tries not to breathe too hard while watching Dale bouncing around and finishing getting ready for work. As he passes by the table, Harry reaches out to grab him by his tie and pull him down into a kiss. Dale lets it happen for a few seconds, but eventually gets free and straightens the tie in question with a huge smile on his face.</p><p>Hawk picks up Dale and Stephie, leaving Harry and the other two kids to lay around all day. Jake’s happy to spend extra time with his dad, even if “spending time with” will probably mean hanging out on the floor with a coloring book while Harry sleeps through a tv show on the couch as Emmie sprawls across his lower legs and actually watches whatever he has on. Harry doesn’t go into the living room right away, though, because he’s waiting for the moment where he has to go running for the bathroom to throw up once the painkillers sink into his body. He actually hasn’t had to take meds like these since his cancer went into remission, but the memory stands out clearly in his head of them making him violently sick (even more than he already was).</p><p>Jake wanders out of the kitchen eventually and Harry continues to sit. It’s surprising when the pain in his ribs seems to turn cold and vanish, and he waits for his stomach to start turning but the feeling never comes. Slowly he gets up from his chair, waiting to either get sick or suddenly feel hurt again - it doesn’t happen. He goes into the living room and sits on the couch next to Emmie.</p><p>“What’s on tv?” is her first question.</p><p>“I don’t know, let’s find out.” This ends up as several minutes of flipping, first through the regular channels and then the cable channels. There’s nothing to watch on a Wednesday morning, apparently, which Harry was more or less expecting, so he settles on a marathon of <em> Invitation To Love </em> because at least he can tune that shit out pretty easily.</p><p>“Hey Dad?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we not go hunting since you’re all busted up?” she asks.</p><p>“Probably not, no,” Harry answers, knowing the disappointed face he’s going to get before it even shows up. “Maybe we can go fishing instead.”</p><p>“But I like deer steaks.”</p><p>“I know, I like deer steaks too, but shooting will bump me around and probably hurt.”</p><p>Emmie sulks. “Are you too hurt for us to go Trick-Or-Treating, too?”</p><p>“No, honey, we can still do that. That’s not even happening for a couple more weeks anyway, I’ll be a lot closer to being better by then.”</p><p>“I’m being a bear,” Jake says, not for the first time. “I saw a bear one at the store.”</p><p>“I know, you told me that.”</p><p>“He should be a black one instead of a brown one.”</p><p>“But I’m gonna be a brown one,” Jake protests.</p><p>“Emily, enough.” Harry’s really not interested in her picking a fight with her brother.</p><p>They gradually rearrange themselves so that Harry’s sprawled across the entire couch and Emmie is flopped over his shins just like he knew she’d end up doing. She’s watching the tv, and Harry’s watching Jake color in a t-rex. Jake spends a lot of time coloring, and already stays inside the lines about eighty percent of the time. Harry’s fine motor skills were nowhere near as good when he was four… or maybe he’s remembering it wrong. That was such a long time ago. He feels so old right now.</p><p>Harry also ends up falling asleep on the couch just like he knew he would, too. He’s a pretty predictable and straightforward guy most of the time. When he wakes up from his morning nap, it’s because Jake’s tugging on the sleeve of the flannel he stole back from his husband’s dresser. Harry’s not sure why Dale keeps swiping his shirts - it’s not like he doesn’t have enough.</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>“Mph.” Harry stretches, rubs his face, stretches again. His back is sore. He really needs to stop taking naps on the couch. “What, buddy?”</p><p>“I dropped the milk.”</p><p>Harry opens his eyes and looks at his son. “What?”</p><p>“I dropped the milk,” Jake repeats, playing with the bottom of his pajama shirt and looking guiltily at the floor. “It’s too heavy.”</p><p>Harry groans as he sits up, and sure enough when he goes into the kitchen the entire jug (which was full this morning when Dale was making way too big of a deal out of fixing breakfast) is pooled across the linoleum. What’s arguably worse than that is Emmie sitting on the counter eating a peanut butter sandwich - there’s a blast radius of jelly and crumbs a good two and a half feet around her - and what’s <em> definitely </em> worse is the fact that the fridge door just got left open for who knows how long before Harry was woken up. He wonders for a second how Jake got the milk open in order to spill it, but looking closer realizes that the jug simply burst when it was dropped.</p><p>Harry doesn’t even know where to start with this one.</p><p>“Okay… first of all-” He takes off his socks and picks his way across the floor to close the fridge. “-there was a jug of milk that’s already open. Second, how long has the fridge been like this?”</p><p>“Not that long,” Emmie answers through a huge bite. Her face and hands are a mess and it looks like she scooped half the jelly jar into that sandwich. “He went and got you as soon as he did it.”</p><p>“You’re getting punished for this,” Harry growls. He snatches the roll of paper towels from its place next to the sink and stuffs it into Jake’s hands. “Start wiping that up. Emily Madison Truman, how many times have I told you not to climb on the counter?”</p><p>“I’unno.” She shrugs and keeps eating. “I was hungry and there was no jelly in the fridge, so I had to get some from the cupboard.”</p><p>That really puts him in a jam - he can’t blame her for feeding herself, after all, but if she gets on the counter like this she could fall and get hurt. He’s a lot more mad about that than he is about the milk. At least whenever Jake does something wrong, it’s an accident. Emmie always knows exactly what she’s doing when she does it. Harry covers his face with both hands. The only upside to this is the fact that Stephie’s at school, because the destructive power of both his daughters doesn’t add - it multiplies. This could be five times worse than it is. Eventually he looks at her again.</p><p>“You better pray that I don’t get hurt again, because next time I’m gonna just send you to school anyway, pain or no. Get off the counter, right now.”</p><p>“But I’m not done eating!” she whines.</p><p>Harry yanks the haphazard sandwich out of her grip and points at the floor with his free hand. “Now.”</p><p>She jumps down, leaving sticky jelly-handprints on the edge of the surface and making a face at him while she does it. Harry gives back the sandwich (she might as well at least finish it before he makes her clean up) and looks back over at the fridge. Jake is trying to dry the floor one paper towel at a time instead of using a big wad of them, which Harry probably should’ve expected. He takes the roll back and wipes the jelly off his palm before balling up three or four of them.</p><p>“I’ll get this, you go put on something clean.”</p><p>“Okay.” Jake plays with his shirt again. He does that sometimes, whenever he sees his sisters getting yelled at. Harry realizes he’s waiting to get yelled at for this, too, and also that maybe there needs to be less yelling in the future.</p><p>Harry sighs. “I’m not mad at you, Jake. Just go get some fresh clothes and put these in the laundry basket.”</p><p>He swabs the milk off the floor, dumps the paper towels in the trash, and then hands what’s left of the roll to Emmie the second she’s done eating. She doesn’t put up a fight, at least, but it takes awhile for her to actually get the counter clean because most of what she does amounts to smearing the jelly around even more. Once the bulk of the mess is taken care of Harry gets the spray from under the sink and finishes up on his own.</p><p>“I was hungry,” Emmie says when he starts glaring at her.</p><p>“You know you’re not supposed to climb, stand, or sit up there. I’ve told you four dozen times. I’ve told your sister four dozen times. I’ve told the two of you together four dozen times. Daddy’s told you another four dozen times whenever he catches you doing it instead of me. Someday you’re gonna be up there like you’re not supposed to, and then you’re gonna fall and crack your head and maybe end up in the hospital.” Harry grabs some more paper towels, leaving just one on the cardboard tube, and quickly wipes off her hands and face. “Go to your room.”</p><p>Harry checks to make sure Jake’s wearing something dry again before going into his and Dale’s bedroom - there’s jelly on his shirt thanks to his daughter, and on that note right now seems like a good time to steal back all his flannels from his husband. Harry only has two left right now that Dale hasn’t snatched away, and he’s starting to suspect that Dale’s been taking his undershirts too because recently it looked like he has less of them than he used to. A small, very petty corner of his mind wants to just swipe a bunch of Dale’s clothes to get even, but Dale’s about two inches thick so nothing he owns will fit Harry’s tougher and slightly wider frame.</p><p>While digging through Dale’s shirt drawer, his fingers bump something hard.</p><p>Curious, Harry feels around and finds - very surprisingly - Dale’s tape recorder and two microcassettes to go with it. He wondered where this damn thing went for awhile; Dale didn’t keep talking to it after getting hurt because he wasn’t an FBI agent anymore, and after the wondering stopped Harry just hasn’t thought about it at all until now. They’ve been married for long enough that Harry’s positive Dale won’t mind him checking this out, so he takes it back into the kitchen to look for a battery, forgetting all about reclaiming his stolen property from his husband. Even with a fresh battery he questions if this thing will still work at all.</p><p>The first one is labelled <em> The Incident </em> in Dale’s tidy handwriting, which first of all sounds pretty god damn ominous and second of all is really hard to read because the label’s almost completely worn off. Harry pops it in and presses the button, getting a feeling he’s not prepared for what he’s going to hear.</p><p>
  <em> “Diane… I’m able to record this due to successfully convincing the nursing staff that it’s a work requirement… they’re very displeased with me over it. I’ll be sure to send them flowers once I’ve been released by way of an apology. Today is the… *pause* fourth day, if I remember correctly, after my second surgery. Stab wounds are not as easily remedied as they are in movies. In point of fact, they can be very difficult to recover from, as I’m currently learning. It seems I’m extremely fortunate that the end of the knife was angled in such a way that it missed my heart. Had there been even a half-inch deviation from the course it took, it’s likely you and Gordon would’ve been attending my funeral last week. *pause* Diane… *sigh* I suppose there’s no use in concealing the truth from you on this issue. You can very likely ascertain from my tone of voice that I’m feeling rather melancholic right now, and it’s only due in small part to my current state of health. It’s an array of emotions, Diane. A vast array of them. I have a third surgery tomorrow, which I’m far from ecstatic about but it can’t be helped. That aside, I’ve been reassured time and time again that I’m lucky. I question, exactly, how that is. I failed in my duties to protect a witness. I was unable to solve the crime. I was injured due to my own incompetence. And… *pause* I love her, Diane. It’s extremely painful to admit such a thing out loud, not only due to her passing but also owing to the weight of guilt I feel. I… it feels as though, despite reading the word in countless books and hearing it spoken innumerable times, I had an incomplete understanding of love prior to meeting Caroline. It’s unfortunate for me that this was my discovery and introduction to love, which sounds extremely selfish now that I’ve heard myself say it. But it’s also true. It was wrong of me to have what many people would refer to as ‘an affair’ with the wife of my work partner. But the first time she kissed me… *pause* I love her, Diane. I wish very desperately and very pointlessly that I didn’t, but I do. Maybe if I hadn’t, or if I’d been more able to keep my hands to myself so to speak, she would still be alive and I wouldn’t be interred at a hospital. *click*” </em>
</p><p>Harry breathes out slowly as he pops open the tape recorder and switches the microcassettes. He definitely wasn’t ready to hear any of that, the confessions of a much younger and more naïve version of his husband who’d only just learned how cruel the world really is sometimes. It makes him nervous about what might be on the second tape, this one labeled with a single word: <em> Harry. </em></p><p>He swallows as he presses play - and nothing happens. Oh. It’s not rewound - he wonders when the last time was that Dale listened to this one, maybe it was after he got hurt so he just forgot to reset it to the beginning. It’s also a little weird that aside from the dust the tape looks brand new, with no marks or fading on the label like the last one.</p><p>
  <em> “Diane, it is… eight forty two pm. I’ve just returned home to Twin Peaks after spending the weekend with Harry. I’m sure I’ve already informed you of this, but he’ll be receiving the bone marrow donations from Frank tomorrow afternoon. I believe this is the beginning of the end, Diane. In short order, he’ll begin to improve and ultimately be allowed to come home with me. This process has been understandably grueling for him and I’m excited to have it be nearly over. Unfortunately, I was driven to distraction by a pair of irritated hospital staff and forgot to explain to him what I learned by speaking with the Log on Friday. Although I also question whether it would be justified for me to share such information with him. I did manage to tell him that he has plenty of time left. However, in his shoes… *pause* Diane, if I came upon the knowledge that you personally had between twenty six and thirty years left on your life, would you be interested to hear such a thing, or would you consider yourself better off not knowing? With Harry, I feel as if I’m in a bit of a conundrum on this topic. If I were to withhold the information, he’ll continue to disbelieve me when I tell him he’s going to survive. But if I choose to share it, he may become anxious about that instead and fall into a state of counting down the years until his potential death, which would be exactly the opposite of the desired effect. In a similar vein, the Log also informed me on reasonably certain terms that at some point Harry and I will be married. I’m both excited and relieved to hear this, Diane, because despite our relationship being relatively new I’ve understood for some time now that this will be my last one. There will be no more romantic partnerships after Harry because there will be no after Harry at all. For the brief time that I had with her, I also believed I felt this way about Caroline. I loved her very much, I do still love her and a small piece of my soul went with her when she died. But I’ve reached a point now where I no longer yearn for that piece to return to me. It may even have been a necessary loss, as I’m much wiser now. I understand that there will be nobody else besides Harry going forward. It’s a misnomer that when in search of a romantic partner you must find and pair yourself with an absolutely perfect human being. This is impossible to do. What you should find, instead, is the person whose temperament best compliments yours, either through similarity or through dissimilarity. Harry tends to be somewhat introverted and to outward appearances is very ordinary, which compliments my - to use the words of others - eccentric tendencies. He’s also very dependable and trustworthy, which I like to think we have in common. This is, I believe, an important balance to have. No, Diane. There will be no one else after Harry. *click*” </em>
</p><p>That explains why the tape was wound forwards - this was the last tape Dale ever made, on the last normal day of their lives before he got crushed by the ceiling in the air force base. Harry’s not even sure Dale’s listened to this one at all, now. It sticks with him: that was the last day that Dale was able to drive, that was the last day before Dale was periodically hobbled by seizures and migraines… that was the last day when they were able to believe they were safe from <em> Bob </em> and the horrors of the woods. This microcassette preserves, in a perfect state, a memory that Dale himself no longer has. It got blanked out by a subdural hematoma.</p><p>The other thing that sticks with Harry is twenty six years.</p><p>But that was twenty six years back in the summer of 1989, when he was in the hospital with cancer. It’s 1998, now, almost the <em> end </em> of 1998. Harry has just over sixteen years to live.</p><p>Harry only has sixteen years left to live.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Cardiomyopathy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Emotions are much easier for Dale to extrapolate than concrete, coherent thoughts when it comes to Harry. What this means today is the mental equivalent to being run over and subsequently crushed into paste by a steamroller composed entirely of fear and despair at some point during his lunch hour. Frustratingly, when Dale is finally home again, Harry flatly refuses to discuss it in any capacity.</p><p>Currently they all sit at the table for dinner together. Jake is quietly eating and minding his own business. The girls are arguing about the fairness of Emmie getting to stay home from school while Stephie still went. Dale is watching Harry studiously, attempting to ascertain exactly what his husband is so shaken by. And Harry is glaring down at his plate, not taking a single bite of the food he prepared for the five of them.</p><p>“Harry.”</p><p>Harry doesn’t look at him.</p><p>“Harry, please eat.”</p><p>Harry says nothing.</p><p>“Harry.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“Harry.”</p><p>Dale watches passively as his husband promptly stands up from the table and leaves the kitchen without so much as a glance. Stephie looks at Dale.</p><p>“What’s wrong with Dad?” she whispers.</p><p>He shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”</p><p>Dale has so far been able to determine at least some information: Harry isn’t upset with Dale specifically, and he’s not angry in any sense - something, somehow, during a day he spent at home with two of their children, has him scared out of his mind. Fear can cause people to behave very strangely at times. If Harry was angry, he’d be quite obvious about it. Instead he’s essentially retreated into himself, helping that along by maintaining silence.</p><p>By now, Dale has officially graduated from <em> worried </em> to <em> frightened.</em></p><p>“Is he mad?” Jake asks in an even smaller voice than usual.</p><p>“No, I don’t believe he is.”</p><p>“Even though I dropped the milk?”</p><p>Ah yes, the milk. Emmie informed Dale of the kitchen fiasco the moment he returned home from work with Stephie in tow.</p><p>“No, he’s not mad at you for that,” Dale assures his son.</p><p>The remainder of the meal is spent in unnatural and discomforting silence, and once the children have finished eating Dale puts them all in the living room and turns on the television to hopefully keep them there long enough that he can sort this out. It’s a lazy parenting trick that he normally despises but at the moment no other options are presenting themselves. Entering the master bedroom, Dale closes the door behind him as softly as possible and stands still for a moment, observing. Harry sits on the side of the bed facing the opposite wall, back to Dale and head in his hands. Aside from the slight motion of his shoulders as he breathes, he’s absolutely still.</p><p>“Harry.”</p><p>No response.</p><p>“Harry, please tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“I want to help.”</p><p>Harry still displays no reaction.</p><p>Dale swallows and finally admits his thoughts. “Harry, you’re scaring the children… you’re scaring me. At least give me something to tell them.”</p><p>At last, this seems to have an effect, if an unusual one. Slowly Harry shifts position, lowering his arms to his sides and pulling a small object from the chest pocket of his flannel overshirt. He holds it up for Dale to examine without turning to look.</p><p>“You know what’s on this?”</p><p>Dale cautiously approaches and recognizes one of the microcassettes from his dresser drawer… specifically, the one he’s never listened to. Each time he’s seen or touched it in the past, a jolt of unease would course his being and frighten him off. All he knows about that tape is that he - for some reason that he can no longer recall - decided to label it with his husband’s name.</p><p>“No, Harry, I’m afraid I don’t.”</p><p>Harry nods and slides it back into his pocket. “Good.”</p><p>“Harry-”</p><p>“If you don’t know what’s on there, neither do they.”</p><p>“Harry-” Dale tries again.</p><p>“Dale, you gotta stop.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“You can’t fix this.”</p><p>“I can’t if you won’t let me.”</p><p>“No, Dale, <em> you can’t fix this. </em> That’s all there is to it.”</p><p>Dale gradually moves the rest of the way around the end of their bed and sits as well.</p><p>“Will you at least tell me how you came to be in possession of that tape?”</p><p>“I was trying to get back all the shirts you stole.”</p><p>“I see.” Dale nods. “A far from unreasonable goal. I suppose you listened to both of them.”</p><p>“Yeah… how come there’s only two? I know you made a lot more than that.”</p><p>“The majority were mailed to Diane and I never saw them again. I believe she filed them somewhere and it seems likely they’ve long since been disposed of. The rest were inconsequential or contained sensitive information and I destroyed them myself.”</p><p>“What kinda sensitive information?”</p><p>“I once wasted an entire tape describing to Diane exactly how handsome you are. That one didn’t get sent.”</p><p>Dale had hoped to diffuse Harry’s mood slightly by saying this, but it achieves no such effect. Harry continues to stare at the wall.</p><p>“You can’t fix this, Dale.”</p><p>“So you’ve said. However you have yet to explain to me why that is, exactly.”</p><p>Purposefully and slowly, in the manner of someone not wanting to startle a small animal that they desire to help, Dale reaches over and pulls Harry into his arms. He’s mildly surprised when Harry allows this, but it affirms the fact that there’s no anger or spite at work here. Harry is only extremely, terribly fearful of something. Dale closes his eyes and focuses - initially to more or less beat back Stephie, who’s trying to pry her way into his head the same as he’s about to do to his husband, and shortly following to dig for Harry’s thoughts. It’s a difficult task and not one he’s had reason to pursue very often in nearly eight years of marriage. He hears fragments of his own voice passing through the speaker of the tape recorder, specifically in large increments of time, as well as Harry calculating and shaving ten years off those increments.</p><p>“What happens in sixteen years, Harry?”</p><p>Harry stiffens in his grasp and tries to yank away, but Dale fixes him in place.</p><p>“Dale, don’t. I don’t want the kids to know.”</p><p>“I can keep them from finding out,” he promises. “It’s difficult, but I’ve done it on many occasions. If you’ll recall, their Christmas and birthday presents have always surprised them.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Harry, please tell me.”</p><p>“But you can’t do anything about it. It’ll just drive you crazy.”</p><p>“I’d like to point out that it already is.”</p><p>A few beats of silence follow before Harry finally answers.</p><p>“I’m going to die in sixteen years.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That’s what it says on the tape. I guess you… you went and talked to the Log, and that’s what it told you. Emmie and Stephie probably won’t even have gotten married yet by then and Jake will still be in college.”</p><p>“Harry…” Dale breathes slowly, collecting his thoughts. “While that may be true, I don’t believe you understand exactly how much time sixteen years truly is. Including leap years, this amounts to a total of five thousand eight hundred and forty seven days. It’s a very long time, Harry. In fact I have vague recollections of telling you so in the hospital. You’ll still live for a very long time.”</p><p>“You did say that,” Harry cedes, “but you didn’t really explain back then what you meant. You just said the Log said something about it. Back then it was a really long time. I guess the Log said twenty six years.”</p><p>“And now it’s approaching ten years since I offered this information to you. I’d like to point out that in June next year it’ll have been ten years, which means that at the current moment your timeframe is nearly seventeen years left, not sixteen.”</p><p>“Does it make that much of a difference?”</p><p>“Harry, I need to know: did I, on the tape, explicitly say twenty six years?”</p><p>“You said twenty six to thirty.”</p><p>“Ah. This is an important differentiation. That<span>’</span>s not a set time frame, and either way it’s very long. I understand your apprehension about the ages of the children when you eventually pass away, but it seems likely you’re also concerned about the manner in which it’ll happen.”</p><p>“A little,” Harry admits. “I don’t want to go through all that shit again, Dale. All the radiation and procedures and… everything. It takes so long and it’s so horrible.”</p><p>“I know.” Dale strokes his palm down Harry’s fluffy curls. “It may not be that. High blood pressure can be a precursor to other cardiovascular issues including infarction and cardiomyopathy. You may die of heart problems rather than cancer. Harry… let’s both assume, for a moment, that it’s the longer time frame. Twenty one years from now, you’ll be seventy three years old. There’s no guaranteed mode of death due to your current health issues. So I would argue that this changes nothing. The average lifespan of men in this day and age is already between seventy and eighty years old. Heart problems and cancer are very common causes of death. You would still have an ordinary lifespan and an ordinary death whether you were aware of it beforehand or not. Personally, I find that to be comforting in a way, especially after what happened at the mill on Monday. We won’t lose you suddenly and without warning. There will be enough time involved for everyone close to you to process it and come to acceptance of it. A sudden and random death is much more difficult and unfair.”</p><p>“I don’t want to die, Dale.”</p><p>“I know. The overwhelming majority of people share that sentiment.”</p><p>“I wish we weren’t already so old when we had kids.”</p><p>“I frequently share that same wish.”</p><p>“Dale.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“What’ll happen to you without me?”</p><p>“I’ll very likely retire immediately. Ultimately when our children have children of their own I’ll have more than enough free time to look after and spoil them by feeding them nothing but candy while they’re here with me.”</p><p>Harry snorts. “You think Frank did that on purpose last summer?”</p><p>“I haven’t ruled it out, no.”</p><p>“What about when you have seizures? You could hit your head again.”</p><p>“Medical science has been making rapid advancements in many areas during the last several years. There may be better medications devised for epilepsy by that time.” Dale feels Harry relax by a slight degree, and in turn he begins to relax himself. “Everything will be alright, Harry.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“It will,” Dale promises. His mind partially switches tracks, now. “Harry, I know we’ve discussed this before, but I believe it’s long past time we spoke to Dr. Jacoby about anxiety medications for you. I worry consistently for the state of your mental health and I think it would be better for everyone if we explored this as an option for you. I know you’re hesitant due to the stigma around these types of issues, but the reality of the situation is that this is no different from me taking Dilantin for my epilepsy. It puts me into a much more functional state that enables me to work and spend time with the children with only periodic instead of constant seizures. Were your brain chemistry behaving the way it’s supposed to, I don’t believe you would’ve needed me to reach the conclusions about your projected lifespan… you would’ve been capable of doing it on your own instead of panicking.”</p><p>“I already take too many things,” Harry argues, trying to pull away from Dale again but failing. He relents after a few seconds and presses his face back into the crook of Dale’s neck, where it had been before. “Blood pressure meds, painkillers… I’m not really interested in adding anything else to that cocktail.”</p><p>“The analgesics are temporary,” Dale reminds him. “And do you have the same attitude towards the four dozen prescriptions I’ve been placed on?”</p><p>Harry shakes his head. “You actually have something wrong with you.”</p><p>“So do you. Harry, you’ve been through so much, and after meeting Frederick I have a greater understanding of what your living environment must’ve been like as a child which certainly did you no favors. I would like to see the time period between your panic attacks increase from three days to several weeks.”</p><p>Harry groans. “Dale…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Can we talk about this tomorrow instead?”</p><p>Dale considers briefly. “Alright. I’m holding you to that.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know you will.”</p><p>Dale shuffles them around slightly and kisses Harry’s temple before standing up. He changes into pajamas and as he stands in the bathroom pinching his contact lenses out of his eyes he thinks briefly on the microcassette Harry discovered - it seems he should’ve ignored the unease it gives him and listened to it before now. Had he done so, he would’ve been prepared ahead of time to counteract any negative reactions his husband could’ve experienced.</p><p>Harry wraps around him from behind as he’s placing his glasses. “I’m sorry I scared you, Dale.”</p><p>“It’s alright, Harry. You’ve done many more frightening things than this in this past and I know it wasn’t intentional.” Dale sighs. “I also wish you wouldn’t apologize for your panic attacks. It implies you think I’ll be angry with you for having them, and I don’t appreciate that.”</p><p>He feels Harry nod. “I didn’t used to be like this.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault.” Dale twists around and hugs him, much more gently than normal in order to mind his injury. “I think what would be best for everyone right now would be for us to spend the rest of the evening watching television with the children and relaxing.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This image of Cooper wearing glasses brought to you by him wearing them with his tuxedo when he went to One-Eyed Jacks the first time and also a very short moment of the episode in season two where they were in the station talking about going into Owl Cave - he was in all his caving gear but also wearing glasses. I've seen a couple other pictures of K-Mac wearing glasses so I think he just does in real life and forgot to take them off before filming that scene.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Epilogue - Bribery And Leaves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Dad?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Stephie climbs into his lap and promptly stuffs a large piece of chocolate into her mouth. The rule is that if the kids can’t finish their Halloween candy by Christmas, then Santa won’t bring them more, so it’s been getting taken to school or eaten as afternoon snacks a lot this month.</p><p>“When me and Julia were playing at her house she had a bunch of dolls.”</p><p>“Oh, fun.”</p><p>“I wanted the girl dolls to have two dads but she said no because it would be weird. So then I thought there could be two moms instead but she said that’d be weird, too.”</p><p>Harry uses every last drop of his self-control not to groan loudly. He’s always known he’d have to have this talk eventually, but he didn’t expect it to come when his daughter is still six.</p><p>“Do you think it’s weird?”</p><p>He wishes Dale was here to have this conversation instead - Dale would be so much better at explaining - but his husband is on a stakeout with Hawk for most of the weekend. Emmie and Jake are taking turns jumping into the leaf piles out back, probably undoing all the progress Harry made over the morning with their games.</p><p>“I don’t know.” She fidgets a little.</p><p>“Okay. Well… did you start thinking about it after she said that? Or did you start to notice things you didn’t think about before?”</p><p>“Kinda. The pictures in books at school are always a mom and a dad. But sometimes boys get married to other boys.”</p><p>“Yeah, they do. Sometimes girls get married to other girls, too.”</p><p>“That’s because boys are gross.”</p><p>Harry laughs. “Am I gross?”</p><p>“No, Dad, not you. Jake’s gross sometimes, and all the boys at school. Sometimes they chase girls around with worms and mud and stuff at recess.”</p><p>“They won’t always do that, y’know.”</p><p>“They’re still gross,” she shrugs. “I think I’ll just get married to another girl instead.”</p><p>“You can marry whoever you want, honey.”</p><p>“Okay.” She looks up at him, making a face. “Why did she say it’s too weird?”</p><p>“She probably just never heard of it before, that’s all.” Harry thinks for a second. “Y’know how when you draw or write or color, you use your left hand?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And how Emmie and Jake use their right hands for drawing and coloring?”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Well, it’s kinda like that. Most people are right-handed. Most boys want to marry girls and most girls want to marry boys. But some people use their left hands for everything the way you do, and some girls want to marry other girls and some boys want to marry other boys. Sometimes there’s even people who can do everything with both hands. There’s also people who would marry girls or boys. Me and Daddy are both like that, we could’ve got married to girls instead.”</p><p>“So why did you and Daddy get married? Now you’re not like everyone in the pictures at school.”</p><p>“Because we liked each other the best. He picked me because he liked me better than anyone else he ever met, and I’m always glad that he did, because I like him better than anyone else, too.”</p><p>“Well then I’m gonna marry a girl,” Stephie decides.</p><p>Harry chuckles. “Like I said, you can marry anyone you want.” Then he grabs her and squeezes a little. “And now you’re trapped, unless you share a pack of M&amp;Ms with me as a bribe.”</p><p>Stephie squeals and wriggles.</p><p>“But Dad!” she wails. “Those are my favorite!”</p><p>“I know, they’re my favorite too,” Harry crows, holding her fast.</p><p>“But bribing cops is illegal!”</p><p>Now he laughs. “Yeah, it is. Guess you’re just stuck, then.”</p><p>Stephie holds still and looks away from him for a few seconds, then groans loudly. “Daddy says I have to share, but I don’t wanna!”</p><p>“Well, Daddy said you have to.” Harry stands up from the couch and carries her over his shoulder to the spot on the kitchen counter where the three pillow cases sit, filled with Halloween treats. “Let’s see here… Lifesavers… Tootsie pop… Hershey’s bar… aha!”</p><p>“Daaaaaaaad!” she shrieks, then twists around to see and immediately stops struggling. “Oh, you can eat those.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? You wanna get free after all?”</p><p>“That’s Emmie’s bag.”</p><p>Harry laughs so hard that he has to put her down or risk dropping her. He’s always surprised by the viciousness of his kids when it comes to stuff like this - they’ll screw each other over whenever they get the chance.</p><p>“Nice try,” he cedes, putting the candy back. “It’s okay, I’m not that hungry right now anyway so I’ll let you off with a warning. Next time you’ll have to get locked up.”</p><p>“Emmie will bust me out of jail,” Stephie announces.</p><p>“Really? I don’t think she will after you tried giving away her candy.”</p><p>They both put on their shoes and jackets to join Emmie and Jake outside. Harry’s worst fears are confirmed - most of the leaves have been spread back around all over the yard. Emmie is chasing Jake around, trying to stuff some of them down the back of his shirt. Harry sighs.</p><p>“I’m gonna start making you three rake if you keep doing this,” he threatens.</p><p>“Sorry, Dad!” Emmie yells, still running and clearly not sorry at all. She’s never sorry for anything that she does.</p><p>Jake comes zooming into the safety of Harry’s arms, where he’s scooped off the ground and away from his sister. Harry picks a piece of a leaf out of his son’s fluffy hair and flicks it away, watching as Emmie and Stephie start chasing each other around instead, alternated with bouts of trying to kick leaves at each other. The whole yard is a mess again and you couldn’t tell by looking that Harry raked it this morning (at great expense to his back). Harry sighs a second time. His back makes him feel old. Taking a bunch of medications with breakfast makes him feel old. Seeing people he busted ten years ago for high school drinking parties out in town with their own young children makes him feel old. Occasionally even Dale makes him feel old.</p><p>His kids make him feel old, too, and he wishes for the billionth time he met Dale even five years sooner than he did.</p><p>He’s still glad he has them, though.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some details that didn't make it into this fic:</p>
<p>-Cooper was the one who asked Harry to marry him (as if it could ever be the other way around with all the emotional damage I gave to Harry in this series).<br/>-During the summer instead of going to camp the kids spend about a month with Frank across the state because he has an above-ground swimming pool and it gives Harry and Cooper a nice long break to go fishing together.<br/>-The girls will sometimes sneak into Jake's room while he's having a nap and paint all his nails just to spite him, and Harry can never get them to stop doing it no matter how hard he tries until Jake gets big enough to stop taking naps at all.<br/>-Once in awhile instead of dropping Cooper off at home and going back to work when he has to stay late, Harry will instead pick up the kids and let them hang out at the station with him and Cooper until he can leave.<br/>-Harry's biggest panic attack ever was one time when the kids were all playing hide-and-seek in the backyard; the girls came running in crying because they couldn't find Jake anywhere, and Harry totally lost it and was this close to driving to the station to put out a search when Jake came into the kitchen all pissed off that it had been a really long time (over an hour) and nobody found him yet. Turns out he snuck into the basement to hide and just didn't hear everyone yelling his name outside.</p>
<p>All my Twin Peaks fics can be found <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&amp;commit=Sort+and+Filter&amp;work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&amp;include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&amp;work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bquery%5D=&amp;work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&amp;user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon">here</a>.</p>
<p>Comments are welcomed and encouraged if you have them :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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